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NO. I. 

t h e 



MARCH, 1857 





<gonteni0 of Maxt\) Number. 


Necessity of the early adoption of right Principles .... 1 

Poetical works of Philo Henderson, 16 

The Broken-hearted Stranger, ...... 92 

Summer Rambles, 33 

Plow on Sweet Stream forever now, (Poetry) 39 

Editorial Table, 40 

Tribute of Eespect, &c, 47 





B. F. GRADY, Je., 


MARCH, 1857. 

NO. I. 

Necessity of tlie Early Adoption of Right 

Note. — The following Address was deliv- 
ered some fifteen years ago, to a society of 
students in an Academy, in the western part 
of the State, and is now published at our re- 
quest. The name of the writer and the place 
are withheld ; but there are numbers of per- 
sons now in the public professions of the coun- 
try who heard it delivered, and, we have no 
doubt, will be gratified to see it in print. It 
was delivered at the request of the society and 
for their exclusive benefit. Although it was 
prepared in haste, on short notice, and with- 
out any thought that it would ever be publish- 
ed or seen beyond the walls of the Academy 
the author says he cannot possibly take time 
now to transcribe it or make any improve- 
ment, bnt has just handed over the manu- 
script which he used in its delivery. 


G-entlemen : — 

It is certainly right for us to value i 
^stitutions of whatever kind, that are J 

calculated to promote our improvement 
or our usefulness ; and to adopt with 
promptness and pursue with vigor any 
measures that may be deemed necessary 
to give them permanence and to augment 
their utility. Such an institution, in its 
place, is the Society which I have the 
honor to address ; and among the means 
which you have thought proper to adopt 
for securing the objects in view is that 
of observing the anniversary of its origin, 
jn due form, and by appropriate exercises, 
the most prominent of which is an address f 
to be delivered by some one of your mem- 
bers previously selected for the purpose. 
In accordance with this arrangement, 
and in compliance with your request, I 
appear before you to-night ; and though 
incapable of entertaining you in any 
way suitable to the occasion, or even of 
imparting to you any solid instruction 


which you do not daily receive from 
your regular teachers, yet as a per- 
formance of the duty must be attempted, 
I would invite your attention to such 
reflections, however cursory and imma- 
ture, as I have been able to make by 
devoting an hour occasionally to the pur- 
pose amidnuny and pressing avocations. 
At this early stage of your progress 
in life, and th^ still earlier stage of your 
progress in learning, it occurred to me 
that I could select no subject more 
appropriate for me in my station, or 
more in accordance with the primary 
design of this institution, or more pro- 
fitable to you, than the necessity of the 
early adoption of right principles. By 
the term principles is often meant, ac- 
cording to our dictionaries, and com- 
mon usage too, the elements of which 
any thing is composed : as when we 
speak of the principles of matter, we 
mean those simple or elementary sub- 
stances of which it consists ; and per- 
haps this idea goes with the term through 
all the connections in which it is used, but 
modified, of course, according to the na- 
ture of the subject to which it is applied. 
Thus when we speak of the principles of 
astronomy, we mean those great or fun_ 
damental laws of the solar system by 
which all its revolutions and movements 
are regulated ; and without which it 
could be no system. They are the 
elements of its order and harmony ; and 
if they were abolished its name and 
character must be entirely different. 
When we speak of a man's principles, 
— as for example, when we say of such 
a man that his principles are good or 
the reverse — we mean those maxims or 

opinions on which he acts, and by which 
his character is formed. When we 
speak of his having right principles we 
mean those great moral truths which are 
necessary to the proper regulation of 
his thoughts, feelings, and conduct ; or 
necessary in other words, for the forma- 
tion of .such a character as he ought to 
have, and consequently for attaining 
the end of his creation. We call them 
moral truths, and say that they are 
necessary to the formation of a correct 
moral character, because without them 
there could be no such character. If, 
however, we use the term moral in the 
abstract, not as opposed to immoral but 
as an attribute of mind ; and if by 
character we mean the aspect which a 
man, as an intelligent being, bears in 
the universe, then every man has a moral 
character good or bad ; but a correct 
moral character, in the sense in which 
we use the term, is formed by the 
operation of correct principles, just as 
the character of a good citizen is formed 
by his obedience to the civil laws under 
which he lives. We know that a divine 
influence is necessary in the case before 
us, but we are now considering merely 
your duty and the appropriate result of 
certain causes. We frequently hear 
our intellectual nature and our moral 
nature spoken of as if they were distinct 
things ; but our nature, apart from what 
is material, may be said to be all moral, 
as that term is used in the phrase, moral 
nature : or rather it is a man's intellectual 
part that constitutes him a moral agent ; 
and therefore moral agency is his highest 
attribute — while his intellectual part, or 
characteristic, so far as it is distinct from 


the other, which it can only be in idea, 
if at all, is subordinate ; and the two 
can never be separated without sinking 
the subject of it immeasurably in the 
scale of being, and certainly changing 
his aspect, his name, and his relations 
in the universe. Deprive a man wholly 
of his moral character, or attribute, 
which you can only do by depriving him 
of those qualities — such as reason and 
freedom of choice, which constitute him 
a moral agent, and, however he may be 
designated, or wherever he may be 
placed, he is no longer what he was. 
Deprive him of his moral feelings even, 
and, no matter what may be his intel- 
ligence, you make him at once a brute 
or a fiend incarnate. Then the moral 
is the grand and inseparable attribute of 
mind, the principal part of man's nature 
because it connects him with the highest 
intelligence and moral excellence in the 
universe ; and the proper cultivation and 
maturity of that is his perfection. 

By the moral truths, however, to 
which we have referred as necessary for 
the direction of all our movements, and 
for the rescue of the soul from the evils 
in which it is involved, and by which it 
must otherwise be for ever oppressed, are 
not meant, exclusively, those dry and 
meagre maxims of duty which we find 
detailed in most systems of moral phil- 
osophy, and, which, however good in 
their place, and as far as they go, are 
but the practical details of only a part 
of what is necessary in the case, while 
that alone which can give them vitality 
and efficiency is wanting : but we mean 
those fundamental and prominent truths 
relating to God and His government? 

and to our nature, condition, and des- 
tiny, which are the only ones that have 
ever been found sufficient to control the 
powers with which we are endowed in 
our present condition : — such as the 
justice and mercy which are so conspic- 
uous in that modification or form of the 
divine government under which we are 
now placed ; that justice of the moral law 
is the measure ; and that mercy of which 
the Gospel is the proclamation : and on 
the other hand, and corresponding with 
these, are, our accountability, from 
which we can neither obtain, nor ought 
we to wish an exemption ; and our con- 
dition as depraved, erring, and guilty, — 
obnoxious to justice, and needing mercy, 
with all the influences which that mercy 
includes as it is unfolded in the gospel. 
If these things are true, of which there 
can be no rational doubt, they must be 
fundamental truths ; and if cordially 
adopted with a full and correct under- 
standing of their import, must be es- 
sential and efficient elements in the 
formation of a character which, when 
consummated, will be the exact counter- 
part, or likeness in miniature, of that 
infinite excellence whence they and we 
have both originated. But as we are 
intelligent beings and moral agents, these 
principles must be received, as such, by 
a voluntary act, and with the full cur- 
rent of the affections, on our part ; and 
this is necessary, because the desired 
effect can be produced in no other way. 
The proof of this is found in the nature 
of the case ; and in the fruitless efforts 
of mankind for near six thousand years 
to recover their lost purity, and to re- 
gain their forfeited happiness. * 


Justice and mercy, though not all the 
principles involved in our relation 
and affecting our destiny, yet to us, in 
our present condition, they are the most 
important, or at least the most promi- 
nent, and therefore should he first and 
most carefully considered. They are 
represented as the habitation or support 
of the divine throne ; and their develop- 
ment is said to be the manifestation of 
the divine glory in the highest — of 
course they must be made the support 
of our minds ; the foundation of all our 
hopes of progressive and enduring hap- 
piness ; the basis of all that moral 
character which we are required to 
form, and in which must consist the 
only real worth we can ever possess and 
the only rational enjoyment we can 
ever have. Let these be fully recognized, 
and all the rest will follow ; let these 
be adopted and all our feelings, pursuits, 
and actions will be brought under their 
control. If analyzed, or carefully ex- 1 
amined, they will be found to include, 
or draw after them by necessary con- 
sequence, all the leading principles set 
forth in the volume of inspiration ; and 
although apparently antagonist principles, 
yet by their combined influence on the 
mind will keep us in the prescribed 
path of truth and rectitude, and bring 
us at last to the destined point. For ex- 
ample, we are required to do justly, and 
to love mercy ; and this seems to be 
given as the sum of our practical duties, 
but there is a peculiarity in the ex- 
pression worthy of notice. It is do 
justly — not exact justice in every in- 
stance, or to the full extent, because 

do justly — wrong no being in heaven or 
earth of any thing that is his due ; and 
love mercy, which will prompt you to 
carry it out in every direction just as far 
as possible. Doing justice is rendering 
to all their due ; and extends to the 
Creator as well as to our fellow-man ; 
for if you withhold from the author of 
your existence the homage and service 
which are His due, you are a delinquent, 
a violator of justice, and He has a con- 
troversy with you ; and if you injure 
any human being by taking advantage 
of his ignorance, weakness, necessity, 
constitutional propensities, or any thing 
else, to rob him of his rights, his in- 
tegrity, or his peace of mind, you take 
away that which you can never restore, 
and for which you can give no equivalent. 
Mercy is goodness extended to the 
guilty and the miserable ; and includes 
a whole class of homogeneous principles, 
such as charity, sympathy, kindness, 
&c. ; for if you are heartily disposed to 
do good, and to promote the happiness 
of others by instructing the ignorant, 
reclaiming the wandering, and relieving 
the needy, you will carry out the prin- 
ciple to its full extent, and show your 
kindness by forgiving those who have 
injured or offended you whenever it be- 
comes necessary or proper. Justice and 
mercy are both manifestly necessary to 
our welfare ; for if the Judge of all the 
earthwerenotone who judgeth righteously 
there could be no safety anywhere ; and 
if that goodness which in other circum- 
stances makes the bliss of heaven, were 
not, in the exercise of His sovereign 
pleasure, and in a way perfectly consist- 

there you could exercise no mercy ; but | ent with the claims of justice, extended 


here on earth, so far as to pardon the 
guilty, sanctify the polluted, and bless 
the unworthy with all the plenitude of 
divine love, we would have no hope. In 
our condition, justice makes mercy ne- 
cessary to our well-being ; and mercy on 
the other hand, when properly under- 
stood, makes justice welcome and de- 
lightful. They are therefore to be 
regarded as universal principles ; or 
principles on which God Himself acts in 
the government of His moral kingdom, 
and on which He requires us and all 
other intelligent beings to act in the 
various relations which we sustain : but 
as it is only when a clear perception is 
had of the divine rectitude and purity 
that the relations of justice and goodness 
can be fairly understood, the first step 
for us to take as a matter of personal 
concern, is not to amuse ourselves with 
mere theory, or be satisfied with the 
semblance of logical consistency in the 
conclusions we draw, but submit at once 
to the divine justice and mercy as they 
are made known in the Gospel and as 
they are harmonized by the atonement 
of Jesus Christ ; and thus be prepared 
to carry them out consistently in prac- 
tice, and to enjoy their results here and 
hereafter. Then the sentence of Pope 
in his universal prayer 

" The mercy I to others show 

That mercy show to me," 

would seem to be more correct — more 

in accordance with revealed truth and 

with all the known facts in the case, if 

he had just reversed it, and said : 

The mercy thou hast shown to me, 

Let me to others show. 

But perhaps we ought to be more 

particular, or to give the subject now 
something of a different bearing, and 
look a little more into the operation of 
these principles, after they have been 
received, in forming the intellectual and 
moral character, and securing the safety 
and happiness of those who are governed 
by them, bringing such illustrations from 
the nature of the case, from analogy, 
and from facts and experience, as the 
time and circumstances will allow. 

What is termed a well-balanced mind, 
that is a mind whose powers of memory, 
reason, judgment, imagination, etc., are 
all properly trained and fortified so 
that no one of the numberless objects 
that are continually presenting them- 
selves will have an influence dispro- 
portionate to its real importance, has 
ever been a most desirable gift or 
acquisition, whichever it may be ; but 
we maintain that such a result never 
has been witnessed either as the gift of 
nature or as the effect of education ; 
for nothing but the principles under 
consideration can give it the proper 
tone, impulse and direction : — nothing 
else can control the passions, regulate 
the conduct, and furnish support amid 
the vicissitudes and trying circumstances 
through which we all have to pass. The 
principles of the Gospel when cordially 
received as the principles by which we 
submit to be governed, connect us in 
thought, in feeling, and interest, with 
eternity and immensity ; and that eter- 
nity and immensity filled with light and 
blessedness of the divine nature. Such 
a connection, or such an occupation of 
the thoughts and feelings is necessary 
to keep the mind from being unduly 


influenced by present objects which are 
all of short duration, and when per- 
mitted to usurp the place of those which 
are superior in worth, and more durable 
in their nature, they become ruinous to 
our present peace, and our future wel- 
fare ; for to talk of a man's having a 
well-balanced mind, when it is utterly 
destitute of any thing that can give it due 
excitement, and at the same time exert 
a commanding influence over all its pow- 
ers is absurd, if not ridiculous. The mind 
is, from the first, under influences which 
are bearing it far away from the right 
track ; and although in rare cases 
it may have a kind of equality arising 
from constitutional temperament, which 
to some may appear enviable, and al- 
though the man, while his affairs are 
prosperous, or not greatly perturbed, 
may glide so smoothly along his devious 
course that no danger is perceived or 
apprehended, yet the termination of 
that course will be no less disastrous, 
and the disappointment will be even 
more distressing. 

The course of literature and science 
adopted here, and, to a greater or less 
extent, in most other institutions of a 
similar kind, is valuable in its place ; 
and the experience of centuries has 
proved that it is, in substance, the only 
one that will answer the purpose ; but 
as to the great end of existence, or as 
to furnishing all the principles that we 
need, and securing the formation of a 
complete and enduring moral character, 
it is wholly inadequate. It cannot de- 
velope and mature the moral sentiments 
and feelings ; for those sentiments and 
feelings can be developed and matured 

only by their appropriate objects, and 
those objects must be far above our 
own level. Hence we always find that 
men who are not under the influence of 
Christian principle, no matter what may 
be their talents or erudition, are radi- 
cally deficient in this respect. They 
may be what the world calls moral ; but 
the higher manifestations of moral sen- 
timents and feelings are never witnessed 
in their case, because the only princi- 
ples which could be efficacious in pro- 
ducing such a result are wanting. 
Amiable in disposition they may be,- and 
yet be without moral principles ; or if 
not naturally amiable, those passions 
which, if left to themselves, would be 
impetuous and ungovernable, may be 
held in abeyance, for a time, by an in- 
tense devotion to literary and scientific 
pursuits ; but they are not subdued nor 
changed in their nature : and when 
those causes which held them in check 
shall cease to do so, as they certainly 
will, from a change of circumstances, 
whether at death or before, matters not, 
they will again become rife. Hence so 
many instances of men who were talent- 
ed and learned, and who were supposed 
to be men of amiable manners and of 
great moral worth, becoming, by a re- 
verse of fortune, or a change of circum- 
stances, reckless, intemperate, or disso- 
lute and wretched. 

The present course of classical and 
scientific study is indispensable as a 
course of mental discipline, and of pre- 
paration for extensive usefulness. The 
study of languages affords a good exer- 
cise of mind, including both memory 
and judgment, at the period of life 


usually devoted to it ; and not only- 
gives us a command of language, but en- 
ables us better to understand the power 
of language, and to use it to advantage 
afterwards. Then come Mathematics of 
which the Greek philosophers were so 
enamored that they called them the 
purifiers of the soul ; but although they 
have not lost, and never can lose any 
of their importance in their appropriate 
sphere, yet as to purifying the soul in 
the highest sense , or in any very desira- 
ble sense, they can have no efficiency 
whatever, and of this the lives of those 
who have been most devoted to them, 
whether in ancient or modern times, 
furnish abundant proof, when destitute 
of Christian principle. Then comes 
philosophy,and a number of other branch- 
es, all having a more practical bearing 
on the duties and pursuits of life ; but 
they cannot all by their combined influ- 
ence raise the mind above their own 
level ; and nothing can raise it above 
that level, except those principles and 
nfluences which connect it with vastly 
higher interests and fill it with far better 
hopes and aspirations than those which 
lie within the contracted circle of time. 
The best course of education, apart 
from religion, is deficient, because its 
effect on the mind is only partial. Sup- 
pose all the parts of what we term a lib- 
eral education, languages, mathematics, 
philosophy, Belles lettres, &c, were to 
receive due attention, and be equally 
understood and cherished, the effect 
must even then be partial, because all 
this does not reach the higher attributes 
of our nature, nor secure our most im- 
portant interests ; for it is only a part of 

the truth that is brought within our 
reach, and the knowledge of which is 
necessary to our highest welfare. But 
it never happens that a man does give 
equal attention to all these branches, or 
if he does, he is not eminent in any of 
them ; for the degree of abstraction, or 
of intense, almost exclusive, and pro- 
tracted attention to any one, mathema- 
tics, for example, which is necessary to 
make him eminent, or even a proficient 
in it, is incompatible with the due ex- 
ercise of his other powers ; and on the 
other hand if the imagination be culti- 
vated chiefly, or to the exclusion of the 
reasoning powers, or be employed in its 
appropriate sphere to the degree that 
men are apt to do, and that is perhaps 
necessary to render them prominent, 
the mind, from its discursive habits, is 
soon disqualified for close investigation, 
and is liable to become, and does in fact 
often become, the dupe of illusions which 
itself has created and often the sport of 
ten thousand objects which will but 
mock its cravings in time of need, and 
when the hour of severest trial ap- 
proaches will flit away like phantoms 
before a madman's eye. There never 
has been, and, according to the true 
import of the phrase, there never can be 
in this world, a well-balanced mind that 
£p not under the supreme and jDermanent 
control of Christian principles ; but when 
those principles are understood and re- 
ceived,the mind is brought into close con- 
nection and delightful harmony with the 
Author and infinite sovereign of the uni- 
verse ; and being thus placed in a prop- 
er position, has given to it at the same 
time a sufficient impulse and a right 


direction, which nothing else can give. 
The object here presented is one of such 
purity and majesty as to bring into cer- 
tain and full exercise all the powers of 
contemplation, and thus to correct those 
partial vices which we are so apt to take, 
and. those wrong estimates of men and 
things which we are so prone to make 
while unconnected in the most, if not 
the only desirable sense, with that 
kingdom which is imperishable in its 
nature and unlimited in its extent and 
resources ; yet the manifestations are so 
diversified and so beneficent as to give 
full play to the imagination and to the 
vigorous exercise of all the purest and 
most ennobling emotions of the soul. 
There is in the contemplation of the 
divine character and government as ex- 
hibited in the g ospel, a process of gener- 
alization and comprehension more exten- 
sive and grand than can take place upon 
any other principles, and yet the impor- 
tance of every part and of each indivi- 
dual is seen to be vastly greater from 
its connection with the whole — as much 
greater as the whole of immensity and 
eternity is greater than the whole of 
earth and time ; and thus we may ac- 
count, on the soundest principles of 
reason and philosophy, for the higher 
regard, and that deeper solicitude for 
their welfare which men of Christian 
sentiments and feelings have for their 
fellow-men, of which as a matter of ex- 
perimental knowledge, all others must 
be as they themselves once were, igno- 

It has been deemed, by the wisest 
and best men of all ages, a matter of 
the utmost consequence that we should 

form a correct opinion of ourselves ; and 
the sentence, yvwOi a-eavrov as you are 
aware, was thought to be of so much 
importance that it was written with 
golden letters in the most public places ; 
but it is impossible for a man to do this 
while he leaves out of view his highest 
relations and his final destiny ; for while 
he considers that all his interests, re- 
sponsibilities, and hopes, if not his very 
existence, are bounded by the narrow 
circle of time ; or while he does not ad- 
mit the full conviction and possess the 
intense and unchangeable feeling that he 
is connected with the whole intelligent 
universe by principles which must for 
ever remain the same, and from the op- 
eration of which, either for his weal or 
wo, according as he acts, he can never 
escape, he can make no correct esti- 
mate of himself or of any thing else but 
in the light of gospel truth, when that 
truith is understood and felt ; although 
he regards himself as nothing in com- 
parison with the objects of his contem- 
plation ; and although, in the first ago- 
nies of remorse under the discovery of 
his guilt and wretchedness he may ex- 
claim with the poet, 

Depth of mercy, can there be, 
Mercy still reserved for me ; 

yet when he sees that mercy is, or may 
be made in his case at least, commen- 
surable with justice, and when by faith 
he becomes an actual partaker in the 
efficiency of the atonement, he views him- 
self as inconceivably important on ac- 
count of his connection with the universe , 
and of that immortality of which he is a 
subject. Hence the genuine modesty 
and almost childlike simplicity so pecu- 


liar to men of the most exalted intellect 
and of the most thorough acquirements, 
who have thus contemplated the divine 
character in the light of his own word, 
and the magnitude and grandeuer of his 
moral kingdom as it is there presented; — 
a modesty and simplicity to which those 
who have kept aloof from such subjects 
are utter strangers ; and which the 
ignorant multitude and the infidel few, 
however educated and refined in other 
respects, regard with a sneer of con- 
tempt, or from which they turn away 
with an air of cold and sheer indifference. 
In close alliance with the above, and 
as a sure result of the same influence, 
we always find a respect for humanity 
and a regard for the welfare of the race 
of man ; — not as sunk in sin, wandering 
error, and bereft alike of enjoyment and 
of hope, but as formed originally for a 
higher destiny ; and now, by the mercy 
of Grod, placed in circumstances in which 
that destiny may be regained — a respect 
and a regard for greatness fallen, but 
greatness that may be restored, which 
makes the subject of it, not only inoffen- 
sive in spirit and deportment, but use 
his influence in subservience to the cause 
of goodness. Every man has some in- 
fluence, and desires to have it increased. 
Tour direct object in getting an educa- 
tion is to acquire an influence which 
you can wield hereafter for the accom- 
plishment of some ulterior purpose ; but 
what that purpose shall be, or what will 
be the result of the influence which you 
may acquire and exert, must depend 
upon the principles on which you act. 
If it be used to frustrate, in whole or in 
part, the purpose of divine mercy to- 

wards any human being ; or if it be used 
to subserve any wicked or merely 
selfish purpose, it would have been bet- 
ter if you had never been born, or if 
some blight of earth had caused you to 
wither away in the very bud of existence; 
infinitely better, if in the very dawn of 
your being the hand of divine mercy 
had snatched you away from earth, and 
placed you where your incipient powers 
might have been cherished and expand- 
ed in the bosom of eternal purity and 
love. The remark of Bacon that know- 
ledge is power, is so trite as to be in 
every one's mouth, and yet its impor- 
tance is not half realized. Your in- 
fluence will be great in proportion to the 
extent of your knowledge, whatever may 
be your occupation ; and in some of the 
learned professions, especially'that of law, 
for example, by your acquaintance with 
the laws of the land, which the great mass 
of the people can have no opportunity of 
acquiring, and by your ingenuity in either 
defending or evading those laws, as may 
best, serve your turn, you may have if 
in your power to wring his last shilling 
from the poor man under pretence of 
having justice done him, or of laying a 
heavier burden on the oppressed under 
pretence of defending his rights, actual- 
ly taking the place of the extortioner 
and oppressor ; and thus you may amass 
a fortune, perhaps from the very men, 
or their children, who have helped to 
rear this institution by the sweat of 
their brow, or who are now toiling to 
furnish you with bread while preparing 
for such a course — but 0, 

I'd rather be trie wretch who scralls 
His idiot nonsense on the walls, 



His gallant bark of reason wrecked, 
A poor quenched ray of intellect ; 
With slobbered chin and rayless eye, 
And mind of mean inanity, 
Not quite a man, nor quite a brute, 
Tban I would basely prostitute 
My powers, to serve the cause of vice. 
Then there is a something called for- 
titude or moral courage necessary to 
resist the syren voice of temptation, to 
shun the decoy lights which are hung 
in every direction, and to meet the shocks 
of adversity and of trial that are coming? 
which nothing but Christian principles 
can inspire. Education apart from vital 
religion, however extensive and thorough, 
e an be of no avail ; for if the subject of it 
should be kept, which seldom happens? 
from the low and grovelling vices of the 
vulgar by having his mind concentrated 
on some one object, such as wealth or 
power, yet the pecculations or the over- 
reachings of avarice, the fraud and de- 
ceptions, which his eagerness, and the 
difficulty of attaining the object, amid 
so much competition, seem to render 
necessary, in his case, together with the 
use which, after such a process, he 
is almost sure to make of his success, 
betray the want of higher principles, 
and degrade him, both in his own esti- 
mation, and in that of all who are and 
have been his minions. What is there in 
education, apart from religion, to eradi- 
cate evil from the mind, or to shield any 
man from its influence ? Languao-e is 
but the medium adopted, for commu- 
nicating the thoughts and feelings of 
those who use it ; and when you have 
become fully acquainted with the lan- 
guage of any people, and have con- 
templated in the language their mental 

and moral character, you have the whole 
amount of their knowledge, their enjoy- 
ment, and their moral worth. Mathe- 
matics, even in the higher branches, or 
when carried to the farthest extent to 
which they ever have been, or ever can 
be carried in this world, are wholly em 
ployed, so far as pratical at all, about 
the numbers, magnitudes, distances, 
forces, motions, &c. of the different 
parts of the material system to whicl 
we belong ; for they cannot reach an;, 
other system, much less the whole uni 
verse. They cannot calculate the ra 
pidity of thought, nor estimate th 
worth of the soil : they cannot numbe 
the . years of its duration, nor measur 
its capacity, nor tell how much wl 
be necessary to supply its wants, or suffi 
cient to gratify its desires. What 
there then in all this course that takes 
firm hold on immortality ; or makes 
man feel, with an intensity which pe; 
vades and sways his every faculty, that 1 
has an inconceivably higher and mo: 
enduring interest than any in this worl 
and that he belongs to a kingdom whi' 
knows no change and which can have ] 
limit to its progressive advancement 
grandeur and blessedness. 

We may fairly regard the Greeks 
having attained the ne plus ultra 
knowledge of every kind to which t 
human mind can arrive under the m 
propitious circumstances, without t 
Gospel ; and if you look at Greece 
her brightest and palmiest days — 
about the time of Pericles ; or if \fi 
choose to extend it backward and : 
ward so as to include a century, mor 
less, from Herodotus to Deruostker 



as you will see by referring to any chro- 
nological chart, you have a kind of con- 
centration of nearly all the talent, 
and learning, and refinement, and glory 
of that boasted land ; but in all that peri- 
od how much do you find of substantial 
and practical knowledge ? how much of 
moral worth ? how much of rational en- 
joyment ? Nearly all her brightest genius- 
es seem then to have been formed into one 
great constellation ; but how do they ap- 
pear ? More like the ghosts of the depart- 
ed, moving about as they imagined, in the 
dim and sombre light of the lower re- 
gions, than men whose minds were radiant 
with truth, and expanded and cheered 
with the sentiments and hopes of immor- 
tality. Would any man of good sense and 
sober reflection in Christendom now think 
of adopting the metaphysics of Aristotle, 
the patriotism of Demosthenes, the phi- 
losophy of Plato, or the piety of Socrates ? 
Who, in his calmest moments would be 
willing to die the death — apart from 
the means and the form of it — of that 
boasted sage, when, according to his 
own sayings, clouds and darkness rested 
on the future, and when one of the last 
acts of his life was an act of gross and 
senseless idolatry ? Even in the Tab- 
lature of Cebus — -certainly one of the 
finest specimens of moral painting that 
has been furnished us by the whole of 
antiquity, where do you find any rational 
or satisfactory account of the origin of 
man and of the evils, natural arfd moral, 
by which he is beset, or of the desert of 
sin, and of the way and means of de- 
liverance, or of the destiny to which all 
may look forward with certainty, if not 
with hope ? Or where do you find in 

the far-famed orations of Demosthenes 
such clear views of the rights of man 
and of the principles of a free govern- 
ment, as you find in our Bill of Rights 
and in the Constitution to which it is 
prefixed ? Do you find in his precepts 
and example any such safeguards against 
bribery and corruption as you find in 
those of most of our revolutionary ances- 
tors ? Moreover, if you inquire for the 
number of those who were eminent in the 
different pursuits of life, and through- 
out the entire period of her history, you 
will find that it was exceedingly small. 
Including every profession, or branch of 
business, in which men usually become 
distinguished any where — such as Lan- 
guages, Mathematics, Philosophy, Ora- 
tory, Government, War, History, Com- 
merce, Agriculture, the Fine Arts, &c, 
it is said that you cannot gather from all 
the pages of Grecian history more than 
between seven and eight hundred names 
that were at all celebrated, and that 
through a period of more than a thous- 
and years, while in this, or any other 
Christian country, you may find that 
number almost at any one time : — a 
fact which is enough to make any fond 
admirer of Ancient Greece hang his 
head in dumb confusion, or start from 
his revery in all the surprise of a sudden 
conviction, frankly confessing his mis- 
takes, and explicitly avowing his assent 
to the truth. But her glory, which was 
never great, compared with the modern 
nations of Christendom, has departed ; 
for all we have received of her know- 
ledge that is truly valuable might be al- 
most put into a nutshell, and nothing re- 
mains of her boasted improvements but 



some specimens of architecture and of 
the fine arts, which being imitations of 
nature, would probably have been car- 
ried to their present degree of perfection, 
if Greece had never existed. 

If we come down to modern times 
we shall find that those whose minds 
were the most highly gifted by nature, 
and the most richly stored with human 
learning, but who were strangers to 
the sanctifying influence of the Gos- 
pel, stood pretty much on the same 
level with the ancients as to moral 
worth, consistency of conduct, and use- 
fulness in the world. Of Bacon — the 
boast of British or Anglo-Saxon genius, 
who effected such wonders in philosophy, 
bringing light and order out of the cha- 
otic darkness and confusion in which it 
was involved, and who looked forward, 
with almost a prophetic ken, to the 
future results of his own discoveries — of 
Bacon it had to be said, for it was said 
on the authority of facts and the 
testimony of contemporaries, that he 
was at once the greatest and meanest of 
mankind. Of Burke who seemed to 
stand unrivalled for the splendor of his 
genius, the highness of his fancy, and 
the power of his eloquence, it had to 
be said, and was said with truth, that 

" He narrowed his mind, 
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind." 

So of a majority of the most talented 
and distinguished men in England 
and every other nation, it had to be 
said that they were destitute of the 
living influence of Christian princi- 
ples, and perhaps it might be said . too, 
at least in reference to their real worth 
and final destiny, mene, mene, tekel, was 
their epitaph. I need not refer for 

additional examples or illustrations to 
men of military renown — such as Alexan- 
der, Caesar, Napoleon ; but to those more 
devoted to literary pursuits, and engaged 
in, or looking forward to the calmer and 
more rational avocations of life. Suppose 
then, for example, that such minds as 
those of Byron and La Place — not very 
unequal perhaps in dimensions or ca- 
pacity, but of opposite manifestations — 
minds which seem to have come into 
existence in an intellectual region in 
which every form of thought and every 
kind of exercise, if not indigenous, was 
almost at their bidding, but so remote 
from that of the common range of mor- 
tals that most minds have to migrate far 
before they reach even its confines, — if 
they had admitted and felt the full in- 
fluence of the principles which we are 
advocating, how different would have 
been their character, their course 
through life, and their influence upon 
society. The latter would not have 
ascended, as he did, in his cold and 
rarified element until, like some Alpine 
height, he became so immersed in the 
mists of his own making that he could 
have no genial warmth and no clear 
view either above or below, and the 
mind of the other would not have 
become, as it did, like the " frozen 
whirlwind," a creation of his own fancy 
in the best days of his intellectual vital- 
ity. These have been mentioned here, 
not because the remarks are applicable 
to them alone, but because they were 
men of unquestioned talents, and because 
they still occupy a conspicuous place 
in the literary world. 

It might be deemed invidious or pre- 



mature to mention in the same category, 
names in our own country — a country, 
so young, so prosperous, so renowned ; 
and therefore we pass them by for the 
present : but if I were to give you a 
correct account only of those, or a 
large proportion of those whom I knew 
when they and I were engaged together 
as you are now, it would be enough to 
make every one of you start from your 
seats, and exclaim, in a pang of regret 
and solicitude : " keep me from such 
a course and save me from such an 
end." Such moral wrecks are strewed 
around us by thousands, and admonish 
us with a voice not to be disregarded 
but at our peril, that it is necessary for 
us to have some better security than 
they had, and to have it soon. Life is 
short, and uncertain ; and the part you 
are now acting is fraught with conse- 
quences of good or evil, which I have 
neither the power nor the inclination at 
present to describe. Your characters 
are already forming under the influence 
of principles or sentiments of some 
kind; and those warm and generous, 
and tender emotions of which you are 
now susceptible are exposed on every side 
to the constant attritions of evil, and 
soon they will all be frittered away. 
Then, like the naked rock which is 
alike destitute of verdure and of the 
capability of producing it, you may re- 
main hardened in villiany, or encased in 
selfishness ; sterile of every thing good, 
and without one pleasant reflection, or 
one cheering prospect. 

You are reminded too of the great 
truths which have been brought to your 
notice by every thing in which you en- 

gage, and by all you behold. A false 
step here is not an isolated thing which 
you can change or supply at pleasure ; 
but is like the omission of a visit or the 
use of a wrong figure in the data or 
in the early stage of calculation, which 
will be recurring at every turn and ex- 
tending its influence to every part, so as 
to vitiate the whole process, and lead 
you farther astray the farther you ad- 
vance. Then you have your infinite 
series in which, no matter how far you 
advance, or how often you perform the 
operation, it is but repeating the same 
thing over, and you can never make the 
slightest approximation towards a final 
result ; and so you will find it in num- 
bering the years, or in working out the 
duration of your existence. Again, you 
have your endless progression, which 
as you advance expands at every step, 
with such amazing rapidity that the 
mind is soon overpowered and you can 
go no farther ; as it is when you begin 
to think of the mind's progress in an 
eternal and more favorable state of ex- 
istence. But you have also an algebraic 
process, in which, however correctly 
performed, it is doubtful, so far as the 
process itself is concerned, whether the 
quantity is positive or negative: that 
depends on the data or the purpose with 
which you set out, and when you have 
finished the process, you bring up that 
and determine the character of the re- 
sult. So the value or worthlessness of 
all we do in this life must depend on the 
motive and the principles by which we 
are governed. Thus, every branch of 
science is full, and so is the whole 
universe full, of analogies to the fun- 



damental truths of the Christian system, 
and showing that the constitution of all 
things here including ourselves, had the 
same divine origin with the Bible. These 
analogies too are pointing you onward, 
not only to an endless series of years 
beyond this life, but to an endless pro- 
gression in the knowledge of the truth 
and in the enjoyment of its results, or 
to an endless subjection to the involv- 
ments and consequences of error, be- 
coming deeper and more expanded at 
every step, while it must depend on the 
motives with which you set out, and the 
principles by which you are governed, 
whether it shall be to the one or the other; 
but the events of time are carrying you 
on with great rapidity towards the one 
to which your principles tend. 

"We are prone from our nature and 
circumstances to make much of the 
present and to leave the future out of 
view ; but as in some of your mathe- 
matical calculations, or rather in data 
used in certain calculations, which are 
themselves the result of a process of 
calculation — in the proposition between 
the diameter and periphery of a circle, 
for example, several figures may be left 
out without any material difference in 
the result, — so the few years of this 
life might be dropped in the estimate of 
your existence without being missed by 
you in the final result, because the past 
beyond the present is so near the whole, 
in comparison, that you might lose 
sight of this when spending that. But 
in the process just referred to it is the 
last figures and not the first that you 
can drop without sensible loss ; for if 
any of the first were thrown away, the 

rest would all be wrong, and must be 
rejected. Now it is only the first years 
of your existence that you have it in 
your power to throw away, and if they 
are lost or misspent, all will be wrong ; 
your interest in eternity or your claims 
to a blissful immortality, must be rejected, 
and you will be undone. 

Admitting now, as we must do, or be 
chargeable with the most glaring incon- 
sistency, that there are axioms, or fun- 
damental truths in moral, as well as in 
natural science ; we must believe that if 
they are properly applied they will pro-: 
duce their appropriate results with as 
unerring certainty in the former as 
in the latter. Then there need be, on 
the part of those who have embarked all 
for eternity on the principles of the 
Christian system, no fear for the 'final 
issue, notwithstanding unfavorable ap- 
pearances at present ; and any such 
fears must arise from ignorance or per- 
versity, just as the illiterate are alarmed 
by any strange phenomena in nature be- 
cause they do not understand the laws 
by which the material universe is 
governed ; for the moral disorders which 
now exist in this world are no more to 
the universe than the war of elements 
on the earth's surface to the solar sys- 
tem, and can no more change or effect 
its established principles. The storms 
that sweep over the earth, spreading 
terror in their progress and leaving des- 
olation in their train, and the convulsions 
which, by their violence and extent, 
seem to threaten a final catastrophe, 
make no disturbance in the revolution 
and movements of the system to which 
they belong, because those revolutions 



and movements depend on the great 
principles which the Creator has estab- 
lished, and which cannot be changed or 
disturbed by any cause except His own 
Omnipotent power ; and even while 
men are perishing by thousands, and 
while the earth itself seems to be rocked 
in its course, and rent to its centre by 
the violence of the agitations and con- 
vulsions that are taking place, it is still 
moving on with the same regularity and 
exactness in its path, and will come to 
the destined point at the precise moment 
of time. In the intellectual and moral 
world there is a constant turmoil and 
disorder. The passions of men are 
often so excited, and their energies con- 
centrated to such an extent, as to pro- 
duce more havoc and wretchedness in 
a day than was ever made by old ocean 
when wrought up to his highest pitch of 
fury, or by Vesuvius with the mightiest 
tide of burning lava that it ever poured 
forth, but amidst it all the great prin- 
ciples remain undisturbed and the vast 
system is moving on as Grod designed. 
Multitudes may perish in their rebellion 
or perverseness and never realize the 
glorious results to which the principles 
of divine truth would conduct them ; 
but those who adopt these principles 
with that intelligence and honesty which 
would certainly be the dictate of sound 
wisdom, remain firm in their position 
and keep on unimpeded in their course, 
amid all the conflicts of error and temp- 
tation and every thing else to which 
they may be exposed in this incipient 
and disordered stage of their existence. 
What is wanting in the professional 
and educated men of this and every 

other country is correctness and ele- 
vation of moral feeling — a state of sen- 
timent and feeling that will occupy 
them with other schemes than those of 
ambition or personal aggrandizement, 
and place them altogether above the in- 
terests of party, or the intrigues and 
chicanery of office-hunting; — that will 
prompt them, in the light of universal 
truth and in the plenitude of the most ex- 
pansive and generous emotions, to in- 
clude with their own the highest interests 
of the whole community in which they 
live, and make them stand firm and 
erect amid all the turmoil and disorder 
by which they are surrounded : for in 
their hands is lodged the power that 
must prove conservative or destructive 
according to the use which they make 
of it ; but nothing except the truth 
of the G-ospel and the grace of Grod can 
subdue that grasping avarice, and that 
all-absorbing selfishness, so natural to 
every man, which would appropriate 
every thing, no matter what, or at whose 
expense, and make the world subservient 
to the gratification of his personal de- 
sires. Selfishness, as it exists in this 
world, has been condemned over and 
over as a fatal error, and denounced in 
no measured terms as the very malaria 
of the soul, or shedding its deleterious 
influence over all the social system and 
poisoning all the means of social enjoy- 
ment ; but while the charge against it is 
admitted as true in all its extent, it 
must also be admitted that the only 
remedy is the one which has been men- 
tioned ; and the great design in erecting 
this institution was, that those who are 
trained within its walls might be under 



such Christian influence, and enjoy such 
facilities for Christian instruction that 
they would be prepared to go into the 
world with those enlarged and dis- 
interested views, with that integrity and 
nobleness of purpose, and with that 
generosity and benevolence of feeling 
which sanctify learning, and make it not 
only a rich source of enjoyment to its 
possessor, but a means of real, extensive 
and permanent good to the community. 
We need not wait for the solution of 
difficulties ; for whatever in the natural 
or moral world is too great for our grasp, 
or surpasses our powers of analysis, 
must, according to the soundest princi- 
ples of philosophy, be taken on sufficient 
evidence as true, and then remain as a 
fact unexplained, or an object of faith 
to be seen and understood in due time 
and under more propitious circum- 
stances ; and .we hazard nothing in the 
assertion that there is as much requiring 
the submission of the understanding, if 
not the affectionate confiding of the 
heart, in the former as in the latter. 
But we have spoken of happiness as 
being, to a greater or less extent, the 
necessary result of Christian principles 
even here ; and so it must be. Your 
rules of grammar produce correctness of 
language, or enable you to detect errors, 
and ferret out the meaning, just as far 
as they are properly observed. Your 
axioms in Geometry result in the estab- 
lishment or illustration of truth just as 
far as they are applied ; and they are 
ever after recognized as old acquaint- 
ances, meet them again where you 
may— whether in the more extended 
walks of literature, or in the higher de- 

partments of science ; for they are, in 
their respective branches, the same 
every where, and all that there is of 
knowledge, and truth, and usefulness in 
either depends on them. The great 
moral truths revealed in the Gospel are 
essentially the same on earth that they 
are in heaven ; and so far as they are 
properly understood and applied, their 
effects are the same. Every thing good 
and happifying depends on them, and 
to them; and to him who adopts and 
acts upon them, according to their true 
spirit and import, the border flowers of 
Paradise begin to bloom even there ; 
and although they may be few and 
feeble at first, they thicken along his 
path as he advances, and become at 
every step brighter in hue and richer in 

The Land of Memory. 

Away to the past, where the hills of time. 
Loom grandly up, through years long passed away, 

And the soft-dreamy skies of mem'ry's clime, 
Wear the hues of an Indian summer day. 

I wander alone on the wings of thought 
When the stars are set in the brow of even, 

And the tranquil sea in its waves has caught 
Those sleepless watchers on the walls of heaven. 

A shadowy realm, is that haunted land, 
And the graves of the sleeping dead are there, 

And tended by some invisible had, 
Pale cold flowers weep in its stirless air. 

The bright star of hope never sheds its light 
On the dreamless sleepers who slumber there, 

And dreams of the future ne'er bend their flight 
O'er the calm cold hearts of its maidens fair ; 

But the angel love on its tireless wings. 
Alone hovers there beneath the skies, 

And fondly believes the soft whisperings 
It bears on the air are the dead one's sighs. 

fair is the land where the dead have lain, 
As year after year has vanished away, 

And often along fond mem'ry's chain 
We glide back to talk with their cold loved clay. 

The mourning heart from the future will turn, 
With all the bright visions its realms disclose, 

And hopelessly weep o'er the senseless urn 
Where its buried hopes and love repose. 



And often in age we pensively stray 

Back, up the dim shores of the stream of time, 
And solemnly muse on our mournful way 

To memory's hallowed, haunted clime. 

A world of holy thoughts round that sweet word 
For ever hovers, like the rain-bow bird 
Around some beautiful, and weeping flower, 
Bathed in the tears of April's sunny shower. 

Each holy thought on glorious golden wings, 
O'er the sad soul, all softly, sweetly sings, 
Pours a sweet music on the aching heart. 
Whose soothing strains a tranquil joy impart. 

He who hath felt disease's crushing power, 
Writhed in the darkness of pain's hopeless hour, 
Remembers well, the mother's gentle face, 
Bent o'er him, marked with many a tearful trace. 

He who hath strayed far from his native home 
Through stranger lands, or o'er the dark sea's foam, 
When down the sky the tempest's clouds were driven 
Felt that for him her prayers arose to heaven. 

And when along life's barren, storm-beat track 
Down mem'ry's chain our boyhood days come back, 
'Mid the bright visions of youth's haunted years, 
Sweetest of all a mother's face appears. 

Sweet angel face, how firm its gentle hold 
On the worn heart — its looks of love untold 
From eyes of truth, bring solace to it, yet • 
They speak of days that it would not forget. 

When time's dark waves above us widely break, 
And from life's tree its faded blossoms shake, 
Far up its stream, those days like sunny isles 
Are seen illumined with a mother's smiles. 

On earth her voice doth bless us with her love ; 
When she is gone, it whispers from above ; 
O'er the bruised heart, on which the world has trod, 
Fours healing balm, and points the way to God. 

The Forsaken. 

In a bower of roses at twilight's hour, 

A maiden sat musing alone, 
Unheeding the dew that fell in a shower 

On the flowers that there had blown. 

And the soft breeze came on its wings of balm 
From its home in the sweet south-west ; 

But unruffled remained the icy calm, 
That reigned in her woe-stricken breast. 

Sad night's gentle queen, with her dreamy smiles, 
Looked down with the stars from her throne, 

But all unregarded were those bright isles, 
By the maiden, who mused alone. 

Despair sat enthroned on her high pale brow, 
And her eye was shorn of its beams, 

From her pure broken heart, tears could not flow, 
For on it lay dead all her dreams. 


And her pale cold lips moved as if in.prayer, 
But they made no audible sound, 
Her low, sweet voice, by the chills of despair, 
In her sad frozen breast was bound. 

And close to her side lay the fatal scroll 
That had swept from her lips the smile, 

And broken the peace of her sinless soul, 
As it told of her lover's guile. 

A cold shudder crept through her chilled frame, 

As the light wind rustled the leaves, 
And her heart 'mid the ashes of love's quenched 

Beat as one that hopelessly grieves. 

No sorrow now rolls its waves o'er the breast 

Of the maiden who mused alone, 
Her spirit's in heaven, her body's at rest, 

And the grass green above it has grown. 

The marble that stands in the pale moon-beams, 
Points otit the green grave where she sleeps, 

With her fond blighted hopes and buried dreams, 
And nature alone o'er her weeps. 

The Farmer. 

The farmer, with a heart at ease, 
Sings blithely in the early morn, 

And all day long he feels the breeze 

That whispers through the waving corn. 

When evening comes with twilight gray, 
He slowly wends him to his home. 

Without a thought of lands away, 
Untroubled by a wish to roam. 

He dreams not of the lighted hall, 
Where beauty proudly holds her sway, 

And soft low voices oft enthrall 
The heart — then leave it to decay. 

His music .is the tinkling bell, 

That leads the slow returning herd, 

Or wafted from some shady dell. 
The warblings of the forest bird. 

The star that first his fancy drew, 

The angel girl that he adores, 
Is the sweet maid amid the dew, 

When blushing morn its radiance pours. 

His is the happy careless life, 
That passes like a golden dream, 

Unknown to sorrow and to strife, 
It fades away like day's last beam. 

And in an humble grave he's laid, 
Without the monumental stone, 

And when the burial words are said, 
In silence he is left alone. 

To a Respected Female Friend. 

Like some sweet thoughtful star that throws 
Its radiance o'er a desert clime, 

She o'er my darkened spirit rose, 
Bright as the morn that ushered time. 



And Rtill she reigns a guiding star, 
Towards which my soul for ever turns, 

And her sweet influence shed afar, 
In my fond heart still brightly burns. 

When gazing on her angel face, 

So heavenly, so divinely fair, 
So full of sweet and tranquil grace, 

I feel there's naught but heaven there, 

She's soft as breath of angels' wings, 
Above the infant's dying bed, 

Sweet as the light that memory flings 
Around the cold and silent dead. 

Pure as the prayer a mother breathes, 

And holy as her stainless tears, 
Bright as the dreams a maiden wreathes, 
P Around the future's unborn year*. 

And in her calm and dreamy eye,; 

A heavenly light divinely plays, 
Like the soft beams that light the sky 

In autumn's golden, shadowy days. 

And like a sunbeam on the sea, 

Her smile steals softly o'er her cheek, 

And when it fades 'tis mournfully, 
She is so sinless and so meek. 

She has a gentle gaiety, 

That charms far more than noisy mirth, 
And her warm heart's poesy 

Leads quietly away from earth. 

My First and Last Declaration, 

Or never make yourself a fool by courting or loving a 
girl who thinks herself above you. 

In a lone sequestered valley, by a singing mountain 

Where the laurel bloometh gladly, in the summer's 

smiling beam, 
Stood a vine-embowered cottage, which the laurel 

when in bloom. 
Encircled with its blossoms fair, and filled with rich 

In it lived a smiling maiden, a sweet maiden young 

and fair. 
With soft blue eyes and cherry lips, and locks of 

golden hair, 
And like the trembling aspen was her fair angelic 

Her face a bank of flowers with a golden sun-set 

warm ; 
Divinely beautiful was she, that sweet flower of the 

Surpassing all that e'er was dreamed or told in 

fairy tale : 
And round my heart her beauty threw a deep and 

magic spell, 
Like some old wierd enchantress of which hoary 

legends tell. 
•Twas on a dewy evening, in that balmy flowery time. 
When the chestnut is in blossom and in bloom the 

mountain thyme, 
That seated 'mid the flowers by the laughing, flowing 

The maiden of the mountain fixed my destiny for- 
I told her that I loved her, as I ne'er had loved be- 
That I loved her so devotedly I never could love 


That all my earthly prospects, and my hopes of 

heaven too, 
(Of the former I had many, of the latter but a few), 
Depended on the answer that her murm'ring lips 

should give, 
To my daring declaration, which I hoped she would 

I asked her if she loved me, and she calmly answered 

And laughing lightly told me, that " she thought I'd 

better go." 
" Go where." I wildly answered her, " where the d — 1 

can I go ? 
With my hopes and prospects blighted, I should 

really like to know." 
" Go where you please ;" " then," I replied, " I'll go 

upon a bust.'" 
" Well, if you do," she said, " I guess you'll have to 

go on trust." 
I left her in her glory, 'mid the flowers by the 

To dance with mountain fairies, of their golden gifts 

to dream, 
And took my way all lonely, mortified and full of 

Down to the dusty level of the undistinguished 

Although we parted never more to meet this side the 

Still it rankles deeply in my heart, that last insult 

she gave. 
And though long years have passed away, I cannot 

all forget 
The pretty,- smiling, winning, sinning, heartless 

rich coquette. 

The Dying Girl. 

'Twas evening and the setting sun 
Shed down its beams of paly gold, 

O'er sombre fields, and forests dun, 

Where many a flower lay dead and cold. 

The wind sighed mournfully and low 
Around the dwelling where she lay, 

As. full of deep and wordless woe 

That one so young should pass away. 

Around her stood a weeping band 

With bleeding hearts and choking breath, 

And one there held her pale cold hand 
To keep her from the grasp of death. 

Her aged mother, down whose cheek 

Tear after tear was falling fast, 
Yet. with a spirit bowed and meek, 

She watched her child, her loved, her last. 

Cloud after cloud swept o'er the brow 

Of the young, gentle dying girl. 
And round her neck in mournful flow 

With death's dews damp hung many a curl. 

Anon from out her waning eye 

Would flai-h a momentary light, 
As mem'ry's scenes came sweeping by 

In their last melancholy flight. 

And gentler, softer came her words 
As she aproached life's closing scene, 

And sadder far than song of birds 

When trees have lost their mantle green. 



At last a holy light divine, 
Lit up her lip. her cheek, her eye, 

A ray of her heart's broken shrine, 
A beam of immortality. 

And then her angel heart grew still, 

And angels bore her soul away. 
Then fell the blighting, endless chill 

Which death throws round our mortal clay. 

And there she lay a stricken flower, 

Divinely beautiful in death, 
As lily pale at twilight's hour 

When rudely torn from beauty's wreath. 

Thoughts on the Season. 

Her sable tresses solemn night 

Had decked with many a sparkling gem, 
And round her brow in holy light, 

Shone heaven's starry diadem. 

When mournfully the clock of time 

In muffled tones, struck twelve times one, 

And round the world from clime to clime, 
Its wailiug. dirge-like echoes run. 

And when night's shadows sped away, 
And up the east the rosy morn, 

Came smiling, blushing iuto day, 
To tell another year was born, 

The festive song and joyous lay 
With scenes of revelry and mirth 

Beguiled the bright and winged day, 
That ushered iu the reign of earth. 

And the dead year with none to weep, 
Save nature's soft and dewy tears, 

At noon of night was laid to sleep, 
In the dim sepulchre of years. 

The years are spirits, and like stars 
They rise up from the future's night, 

And towards the past in viewless cars 
Bend their eternal, silent flight. 

Their dark wings wave so noiselessly, 
We heed not their destroying breath, 

And surely, though uuconsciously, 
We glide on to the hour of death. 

How little of them's all we know, 
Long centuries have come and gone, 

And still the everlasting flow 
Of coming ages rushes on. 

Affection's tear, how bright it seems 

1 n woman 's tender eye. 
When trembling in the angel gleams 

That to the loved one fly. 

Proud man. with all his boasted sense 

And ri-ason. never knows 
The feeling h"ly and intense. 

That in her pure heart glows. 

Ten thousand things will lead him far 
From those he ought to love, 

But woman is a changeless star 
That ever beams above. 

Her fond, brave heart beats hopefully 

Amid the deepest gloom, 
And in it flowers of sympathy 

In fadeless beauty bloom. 

Her love will stand both time and tide 
And cold misfortune's blast. 

And through both poverty and pride 
'Twill burn on to the last. 

And in the closing scene of life. 

When death's dark curtains fall, 
A sister, mother, or a wife, 

Is seen, heard, last of all. 

The Orphan Flower. 

Gentlf. and sinless and stainless grew 

In the years long, long ago, 
A flower surpassing in beautiful hue 

Heav'n's bright aerial bow. 

And soothing words of love o'er it fell, 

Such as angels breathe to men, 
When they to the sinking spirit tell 

The end of sorrow and sin. 

Many and many a blissfulrmile 

That bud of its transient tears to beguile 

Were shed on it lovingly, 
Like star-beams on an emerald isle 

In a calm and tranquil sea. 

Those words died away, and those smiles decayed, 

For alas ! the lips and tongue. 
That uttered them, in the cold grave were laid, 

And death's chill over them flung. 

But still that bud in beauty grew on, 

The rarest gem of the earth, p 
Though pride and wealth with scorn looked upon 

Its matchless beauty and worth. 

And now neither valley nor shady hill, 

Nor wild, lonely, haunted dell. 
By moss-covered rock, or bubbling rill, 

Of such wondrous beauty tell, 

As that which breathes from its spotless leaves 

Unmatched in hall or bower, 
When twilight ber shadowy mande weaves 

Round the gentle •• Orphan Flower." 

In life or in death that flower will bloom 

As fair as those that were born 
When Paradise sprung from out the gloom, 

In the light of time's first morn. 

'Twill bloom while the wings of angels gleam 

In the light of endless day. 
While the harps of gold o'er Eden's stream 

Pour down their immortal lay. 

The gentle bud in the days of old 

That grew in the sunlit bnwer, 
Alone in a world both stern and cold, 

Is now the " Orphan Flower." 



Alice Gray. 

Where the blue hills sleep 'neath the dreamy sky, 
And fairies dream in the flowry glade. 

Where the laurel blooms when zephyrs sigh 
O'er streams that dance in the hazel shade ; 

A maiden dwelt in the days of yore 

Where the blue hills meet the smiling vales, 

And the sparkling moonlit waters pour. 
And sing to the stars their mystic tales. 

I met her many a year ago 

Alone in the vale, when lingering day 
Had left in shadows the vales below 

And shed on the hills its parting ray. 

Her eye was blue, and her golden hair 

In many a sunny tress was curled. 
Like the mists that wave along the air 

When morning wakes the sleeping world. 

Her heart an Eden of stainless flowers, 

Where angels stopped when they came to earth ; 

Innocence dwelt in its sinless bowers, 

And reigned o'er the dreams that there had birth. 

The past to her was a land of beams 

That stretched in memory far away, 
The future a realm of cloudless dreams 

Where hope's fair clime of enchantment lay. 

Many and many a blissfi^hour 

Has floated on viewless wings away, 
As fondly I watched that fragile flower, 

The rose of the hills, sweet Alice Gray. 

But the fairest flowers of earth must die, 
And the brightest things yield to decay, 

And the loveliest maidens mouldering lie 
Commingling with the unconscious clay. 

The angel death on his mission came. 
And Alice sleeps 'mid the dreamy hills, 

Where echo repeats her magic name. 
And blends it with songs of murm'ring rills. 

The thoughts of her will never decay, 

They rise in memory o'er and o'er, 
And the name and love of Alice Gray, 

Will live in my heart for ever more. 

To the South. 

Land of the sun. clime of the brave, 
Will you prove freedom's, bloodless grave, 
Shall drear oppression's sombre cloud 
Become your dark opprobrious shroud ? 
And shall your proud heroic name 
Be stained with vile and coward shame ? 
The graves of your immortal dead 
Dishonored by a foeman's tread ? 
Shall the historic pen record 
Submission to a Northern lord, 
And Southern daughters' tears proclaim 
The night of your unclouded fame ? 
Sons of the sunny South, awake ! 
The despot's fetters from you shake. 
Awake ! and let the tyrant's chain 
For freeborn men be forged in vain. 

Awake ! and the war-cloud so dun, . • 

Will fade before a Southern sun ; 

Look on each fair romantic vale 

Where whisp'ring love sighs torth its tale 

'Neath forest trees that greenly wave 

Above the hero's nameless grave. 

Look on each hill that rears its head 

Above the cold, the : mighty dead ; 

It viewed their struggle in the van 

Where freedom fought for fettered man. 

List to the tales the streamlets tell, 

How brave men fought, and fighting fell, 

Shouting with their last dying breath, 

Freedom for man. or glorious death. 

List to the strains of melody 

From Southern maidens pure and free, 

When twining flowers of Southern bloom 

To deck a hero'B hallowed tomb. 

Shall their sweet minstrelsy be hushed. 

The flowers in their pure hearts be crushed, 

The light fade from their sunny eyes, 

Their sweet glad songs yield place to sighs ? 

Sons of the injured South, awake, 

Now on you rests the mighty stake 

Of freedom, and of equal laws, 

The woilcl's strong censure or applause. 

From broad Potomac's silv'ry tide 

To where the Sabine's waters glide, 

From the green bank Ohio laves 

To old Atlantic's coral caves, 

A land where smiling plenty teems 

With fertile vales and sunny streams ; 

A land of sunshine and of shade 

Of verdant hill and flowery glade, 

Lies doomed by a fanatic race 

That would its vei - y name erase, 

From out the proud historic page 

Where name of hero aud of sage 

Stand high, a bright unfading light 

To lead their children in the fight, 

And cheer them in the conflict on 

To deeds such as their valor won. 

By the proud mem'ry of her dead, 

By all the blood her patriots shed, 

By freedom's dear and sacred name, 

And by their own all cloudless fame, 

The injured South invokes her sons 

To shield her from the barbarous Huns, 

Who long to light the torch of war 

In that fair land which they abhor, 

Who burn to glut their fiendish ire 

By giving her to sword and fire, 

To see her banner soiled and torn, 

Her star of all its glory shorn, 

Set dimly in oblivion's stream. 

And leave her name a shadowy dream. 

Sweet Mary, Dost Thou Remember? 

Dost thou remember, sweet Mary, the days, 

The long summer-dtys. when by the brook-side, 

Thy sweet voice poured forth love's innocent lays, 
While musing we watched the glad waters glide, 
Sweet Mary, dost thou remember ? 

Dost thou remember, sweet Mary, the tree, 

The white-blossomed tree that stood by the stream, 
From whose scented branches the bird and the bee 
Commingled their songs with the hues of our 

Sweet Mary dost thou remember ? 

Dost thou remember, sweet Mary, the tale, 

Which trembling I breathed in thy listening ear ; 
As the blossoms, like snow, swept down the sweet 
You sighed a reply, 'twixt a smile and a tear 
Sweet Mary, dost thou remember ? 



We little thought then, as we sat hy the brook, 
While the shadows of evening warned ns away, 

That we never more together should look 
On the wild blossoms blent with the waters at play. 
Thy hand clasped in mine, sweet trembler. 

Many, many years after. I passed by the tree 
And stood on the bank of the beautiful stream ; 

The tree was decayed, and complainingly 

The streamlet crept on. unillum'd by a beam. 

'Xwas choked by snows of December. 

Our heart's though once wedded have felt sorrow's 
Like dead leafless trees they stand, naked, alone, 
Their blossoms are gone— and affection's glad rill 
Flows not with the sweet and melodious tone 

It breathed in the days we remember. 


To Mary , 

Angelic being with the sinless soul, 

Receive my solemn and my last farewell, 

Breathed forth through thoughts whose gloomy 
shadows roll 
Across my heart — which withered as they fell. 

No more, oh no, oh never more. 

Will my sad heart its mournful strains awake, 
And ne'er again its hapless fate deplore. 

Thy holy dreams and sinless joys to break, 

It must be so : in this deep solitude. 

My soul is haunted with the thoughts of thee, 
Here in a musing, melancholy mood, 

I dwell with thee in realms of memory. 

My passion to my will I cannot bend, 
'Tis deep and changeless as Eternity ; 

I cannot think of thee as of a friend, 
So unutterably dear art thou to me. 

Forgive my heart that it doth fondly dwell, 

On thoughts that wander Ghost-like o'er the past 

That if o'er memories of the past doth dwell, 
Fond memories of days too bright to last. 

A magic and unconquerable spell 

Doth hold it in its adamantine chain, 
Wak'ning emotions which it caunot quell, 

Although 'tis crushed, and ne'er will hope again. 
The weary day and long and ghastly night 

Bring no relief, but aggravate the pain, 
And memory's sweet and melancholy light 

But serves to show that it has loved in vain. 

I do not ask thee now to bid me hope. 

To shed on me a sweet inspiring smile, 
Which could disperse the gloom in which I grope. 

And life of its dull, weary hourB beguile : 

I am not worthy thee, and I must bear. 

The sorrows I have heaped upon my head. 
Which will with slow and silent torture wear 

My heart away, for it hath deeply bled. 

'Tis idle now to say what might have been, 
To dream of joys that never were to be, 

The hand of fate has drawn a veil between 
Our destinies ; thou wert not born for me. 

But oh to live without thee, and forever, 
The thought is agony — I can't express. 

Mary, remember Mary, that I never 
Where e'er I be, I ne'er can love thee less. 

Life of my life, soul of my soul, farewell ! 

The struggle's o'er, the star of hope hath set ; 
But oh. the thought reigns in my heart's deep cell, 

I have not learned the lesson to forget. 

Adieu, adieu, and may each kindly star. 
Beam o'er thee but to light thy way to bliss, 

But as I wander on through earth afar. 
Thy angel smiles on life's drear road I'll miss : 

And memory still will turn me to the hour, 
When last that smile beamed bright across my 

And love became a faded, withered flower, 
And left the wretch to bleed who had to part ! 

Mary, the Beautiful, is Dead. 

The fairest flower that ever bloomed, 
Now moulderiDglies in cold decay ; 

The gentlest heart now sleeps entombed, 
That ever lit life's lonely way. 

Mary, the beautiful, is dead ! 

In the cold dreamless grave she lies : 
Her pure and sinless soul has fled 

On wings angelic to the skies. 

Yes. tranquilly she slumbers now, 

In her last silent resting place, 
Where sorrow ne'er can cloud her brow, 

Or leave its black and burning trace. 

Ye gentle ones, go seek her grave, 

At the approach of dewy eve, 
Weep with the flowers that o'er her wave — 

Sigh with the winds that round her grieve. 

Could not thy shaft, insatiate death, 
Pierce one the world could better spare ? 

Could'st not thou pluck from beauty's wreath 
A flower not so divinely fair ? 

What spirit now can take her place, 

Religion, at thy holy shrine ? 
Who wear with such a gentle grace 

Sweet piety, thy charms divine ? 

When her pure spirit passed away, 
The world lost its most precious gem ; 

And one more star of purest ray 
Wast set in heaven's diadem. 

Along the waste of memory 

Remembrances of her are seen, 
Like isles of beauty in the sea 

When dreary waters intervene. 

To tlie Author of Lucy Alton. 

Thy holy thoughts, like eve's descending dew, 
Upon some sweet and solitary flower, 

Fell on my heart, awaking feelings new, 
By their deep magic, and enchanting power. 

And like the breeze, when laden with«perfume, 

It flits along upon its airy wings. 
Playing 'mid flower gardens all in bloom, 

They swept across my bosom's trembling stri ngs 



In what enchanted region dost thou dwell ? 

And is thy glowing heart a young or old ? 
From which such bright and heavenly streamlets 

Into a tale so beautifully told. 


.Tlie Broken-hearted Stranger. 

It was during a brief sojourn in one 
of the most romantic portions of West- 
ern N. Carolina that the incident trans- 
pired which I am about to relate. Af- 
ter the fashion of most collegians who 
fancy that they find themselves, at the 
end of each session, seriously impaired 
both mentally and physically, I made a 
flying visit to this field of the romantic 
to recruit my shattered faculties ; but it 
might have been mainly to escape from 
the sight of books, and to breathe an 
atmosphere where I might hear the 
shrill report of the rifle instead of Greek 
roots and Mathematical problems. Be 
this as it may, it is sufficient to say, 
that I found myself on a bright sum- 
mer evening on an eminence which 
overlooked a quiet little village in the 

county of A . I had visited it in 

my more boyish days, and it was with 
many pleasing reflections that I gazed 
upon a scene that called up so many 
soothing reminiscences of by-gone days. 

The scene itself was most enchanting. 


Beneath me lay the quiet little village, 
clad in all its rural charms. It was a 
small collection of quaint-looking houses, 
interspersed, here and there, with a few 
which had been honored above the rest 
with a coat of white paint. These 
evidently formed the residences of the 
more aristocratic portion of the inhabi- 
tants. The shades of twilight were 

already settling over it, while yet the 
sun was visible to me, and lit, with his 
parting beams, ■ the summits of the 
neighboring peaks, and formed a striking 
contrast with the gloom which was 
spreading itself like a pall over the val- 
ley, in which lay the village. The 
smoke issued in perpendicular columns 
of blue vapor for a hundred feet, until 
it encountered a current of air which 
spread it in a broad sheet over the 
tranquil scene. As night approached I 
turned my horse reluctantly down the 
declivity, and in a few minutes stopped 
before a respectable looking edifice 
which the sign betokened an Inn. The 
landlord, a fine specimen of the moun- 
taineer, gave me a cordial welcome, and 
assured me in his own blunt manner, 
that he would contribute any thing in 
his power to render my stay agreeable. 
I found that time, in its onward march, 
had made little alteration in this place 
or its inhabitants within the past eight 
years. I saw the same gray-haired old 
men walking with a step as firm as when 
I last saw them. Upon them it seemed 
to vent its fury in vain, for with the ex- 
ception of hair perhaps a shade whiter, 
I could see no difference. 

I inquired of the landlord if he 
could procure me a guide for the ensu- 
ing day, as I contemplated a fishing 
excursion. He replied that he could 
furnish me with a companion, if I pre- 
ferred it. I thanked him and made 
some inquiries concerning my future 
associate. To these he answered briefly: 
"He is a perfect anomaly, — has been 
here some years, — seems to be harassed 
with some secret anguish, for he seldom 



associates with any one except myself ; 
and yet when thrown in company he is 
exceedingly polite. He seems to have 
moved in a sphere widely different from 
this, his last selection. He has around 
him every comfort which the country 
can afford, and spends his time, chiefly, 
in hunting and fishing." 

His account of a being so strange, 
aroused my curiosity to such a pitch, 
that I eagarly accepted an invitation 
from mine host, to repair immediately to 
the abode of this misanthropic recluse. 
He led the way to a single room in the 
suburbs of the place, and entered with 
an air of apparent familiarity. The in- 
mate arose as we entered, and my friend 
introduced him to me as Mr. De Lacy. 
The individual in question was a man 
rather beyond what would be called 
the prime of life. He had been evidently 
subjected to the ravages of some deep- 
rooted sorrow. His luxuriant hair was 
as white as if silvered with the snows of 
seventy winters ; his face was crossed 
with many a care-worn wrinkle, but his 
eye presented the brilliancy of a much 
earlier day. His form had been robust, 
but was considerably emaciated. His 
greeting was cordial, but he soon re- 
lapsed into the same dejected air which 
marked him upon my first entrance. 
Altogether he seemed to me such a 
child of mystery that I determined, ere 
I left the place, to obtain, if possible, 
some information as to his history, 
though informed that he was perfectly 
impenetrable in all things relating to his 
past life. But this resolution was more 
easily formed than carried into effect, 
for though he joined me in all my ram- 

bles and conversed without restraint 
upon other matters, yet he always main- 
tained the same studious reserve in all 
things concerning himself. Days pass- 
ed away, and the time was fast approach- 
ing which I had fixed for my departure, 
and as yet I had effected nothing. It 
was during one of our numerous ex- 
cursions that an opportunity presented 
itself. Tired with our walk, and having 
filled our basket with trout, we were 
seated beneath an over-hano-ino' rock on 
the margin of one of those beautiful 
mountain brooklets. The place was as 
romantic as the most ardent lover of 
nature's charms could desire. On either 
side the rocks were piled for a hundred 
feet in huge, shapeless masses, while 
here and there might be seen cliffs that 
shot up in bold relief, reminding us of 
the grim battlements of some old feudal 
castle, and the brook as clear as crystal 
was flowing beneath with noisy im- 
patience. My comrade had been sitting 
for some time gazing intently upon the 
coasts of the stream. It might have 
been reflection from the water, but I 
imagined I saw a tear glisten for a mo- 
ment in his eye. His thoughts were 

recurring probably to his own boyish 
days, when life to him was but a dream 
of pleasure, when his buoyant spirits big 
with hopes, filled the future with joys, 
which, like the Dead Sea fruits, were 
delightful to the eye but all bitterness 
within. Hoping to gain some infor- 
mation while memory was yet fresh 
enough to re-open the fountain of his 
tears, I turned and thus addressed him : 
" What inducement have you, my friend, 
for thus secluding yourself in his re- 


tired corner of the world, among com- 
panions so strangely uncongenial ?" 
My question seemed, at first, to startle 
him, but he soon recovered himself and 
said : " Why ask me to tear agape those 
ghastly wounds which the lapse of years 
has nearly healed ? Why should I dwell 
on the hopes of my youth, born only to 
be blasted ? But a sorrow, shut up 
within heart's hot cells rankles with the 
fury of a slumbering volcano, and yet 
for forty long years, this has been 
gnawing at my vitals, and though these 
silvered locks and this sunken cheek 
are evidences of its dreadful havoc, yet 
before a human eye, no sigh of anguish 
has ever escaped me to indicate my tale 
of woe : and now since my cup is almost 
drained, and this earthly pilgrimage is 
drawing to a close, perhaps it may ease 
me for a while to find in you a sympathy 
for my sorrow. This little brook is 
strangely emblematic of my past life. 
Trace it back but a few short miles, and 
you will find it a purling streamlet. 
Here we see the brook encompassed 
by these grim barriers, fretting and 
dashing itself with noisy impatience 
against the obstacles that lie athwart its 
channel ; and follow its downward course 
for a hundred miles, and you will no 
longer find it the leaping rivulet that 
you see here, but a deep, turbid stream, 
slowly wending its way towards ocean's 
depths. My youth was checkered with 
cares, my manhood a fitful dream, and 
now, as age is creeping upon me, I 
have sought this retired place that, after 
a life so tumultuous, this careworn body 
may sink quietly into its last receptacle. 
It was my fortune, or rather misfortune, 

to be born the child of wealth and lux- 
ury. My father was Lord D , of 

one of the most ancient and wealthy 
families in England, and I, his only 
child, and heir to all his titles. Of my 
college life, it is necessary to say no- 
thing. I was wild and wayward, and 
when, on my graduation, my father de- 
sired me to succeed him in the labors 
and honors of his station, I begged of 
him to retain them himself for a while, 
pleading both my youth and inex- 
perience. My disposition was too rest- 
less to brook confinement, and I had 
formed the intention of joining the 
army. When I first signified my wish 
to him he bitterly opposed it, but find- 
ing me inexorable, he at last con- 
sented to procure for me a commission 
in a regiment that was then forming for 
service in America. We were stationed 
for some time previous to our departure in 
London. Here I enjoyed myself in the 
widest sense of the word. With no very 
pleasing anticipations of camp-life, I 
determined to drink deep of pleasure's 
cup, and many a time since have I 
wished that its nectar draughts had 
scorched my lips, for it led me to place 
my confidence in one whose villainy, 
black as hell could paint it, has left me 
here to die like a withered oak stript of 
its branches. In my regiment there was 
a brother officer of my own rank and 
age ; his winning manners and handsome 
appearance were almost irresistible, and 
an intimacy sprang up between us which 
soon ripened into friendship. Day after 
day passed over us in each other's 
company, and^served only to endear us 
to each other. Happening to be saun- 



tering one day along N street, I 

noticed a handbill announcing that a 
celebrated troupe were to perform at a 
very fashionable opera, and as it was 
near the time, I prepared myself, and 
joining my friend, we proceeded thither. 
Of the performance I can say nothing, 
for opposite to me there twinkled a pair 
of sparkling eyes that sank deep into my 
heart, but then* owner was far beyond 
description. Her raven locks and long 
drooping lashes gave to her an ah of 
softness that mocked the veriest angel 
that ever trod a Sultan's harem, and 
the pearly whiteness of her complexion, 
the perfect symmetery of form and fea- 
ture, might tax the skill of a Praxiteles. I 
sat entranced, gazing upon this fairy 
vision during the whole performance, and 
the hot blood went rushing back and 
forth with quick pulsations. From that 
time I had no dream that did not make 
her mine. I had no thought that did not 
turn on her, and with a throbbing heart 
I sought my couch to spend a sleepless 
night, haunted by the dreadful thought 
that already she might be another's 
prize. The idea rushed like an electric 
shock through my brain and I deter- 
mined that another sun should not set 
on me ere I heard her name pronounced. 
But how was I to get an introduction to 
her. This was a question which sorely 
puzzled me. But pondering over the 
matter it suddenly occurred to me that 
I had seen young Lane, for that was my 
friend's name, bow to her the evening 
before. Full of hope, I sought his cham- 
ber and told him of the angelic beinw 
whose beauty had kept my eyes from 
sleep, and dwelt with rapture upon her 

surpassing loveliness. I thought I de- 
tected an uneasy expression in his face 
whilst I was speaking, but I was too 
much infatuated to read its true sig- 
nificance. " I am surprised," he said, 
" that you have not heard of her before. 
She is the daughter of one of the wealth- 
iest barons in the reahn. I thought 
that every gallant that could support a 
mustache or boast of family distinction 
had felt the potency of her charms. 
Half the courtiers have already laid 
then fortunes at her feet to see them 
spurned." At my earnest request, he 
at last consented to attend the levee on 
the ensuing evening and introduce me . 
It was with feverish impatience that I 
awaited its approach, and when at last it 
came, with many misgivings I repaired 
thither and met my friend ; we soon 
discovered Miss Wallace the object of 
our search, seated upon a divan, sur- 
rounded by half a dozen zealous ad- 
mirers each striving to excel the other 
in the assiduity of his attentions ; and 
though she received them with great 
politeness, yet there was a constrained 
air in her bearing that showed they were 
any thing but agreeable. 

After the introduction we continued 
to form a part of the little circle. Lane 
exerting to the utmost to please. In a 
short time all had left her but Lane and 
myself, and circumstances having called 
him away, I seized the opportunity and 
offered my arm for a promenade. 
She accepted it, and we were soon 
among that restless mass of human be- 
ings that, like the wheel of Ixion, seem- 
ed destined to move for ever. Round 
and round we went, and I soon dis- 



covered that we were the " observed of 
all observers," and many were the 
envious glances cast upon nae by dis- 
appointed knights. The crowd finally 
began to disperse, and as I handed her 
to the carriage, I requested the privilege 
of escorting her to the ball on the 
ensuing evening. This offer she ac- 
cepted with a grace that gave birth to 
new hopes within my bosom that she 
might yet be mine. Long to me was 
the day that followed. It seemed that 
youth might yield to age under the 
pressure of a few such days, and often 
did I resolve that that day should seal 
my fate. But when the time arrived, 
and I found myself in the same carriage 
with her flying along through the paved 
streets, I could not muster courage 
to carry out my resolution. The night 
passed, and each hour I thought that I 
discerned something that betokened more 
than a pleasure in my attentions. The 
ball passed, and again we were alone* 
but again my heart forsook me. When 
I took my leave of her, she informed 
me that she would leave the city the 
next day for her father's country res- 
idence. This suited me admirably, for 
he had given me an invitation to spend 
some days with him previous to my de- 
parture ; for he had been a compeer of 
my father's, and was so importunate 
in his requests that I had consented, 
even before I was aware that Miss Wal- 
lace's presence was to add to the pleas- 
ure of my visit ; but her announcement 
determined me, for it afforded a fine op- 
portunity for the consummation of my 
plans, so I accepted the invitation and 
promised to follow him in a few days. 

The time hung heavily on my hands. 
That star of the galaxy which had 
attracted my wandering gaze had left its 
constellation, and London possessed no 
attraction for me. At the expiration of 
the time I set out with a light heart for 
Wallace Mansion. It was a beautiful 
morning, and the very birds seemed to 
inspire me with confidence of success. 
On my arrival there I met with a 
reception such as only an Englishman 
can give, but by far the most cordial to 
me were Miss Ada's smiles. I will not be 
tedious to mention our many tete-a-tete, 
nor how the gilded hours flew over me, 
contented with only being near her. But 
one more day remained, and this was 
to determine my fate. Anxious and 
restless I wandered over the fields as if 
in search of game, but many a lucky 
partridge escaped exulting, for my 
thoughts were employed. Towards sun- 
set, I turned to retrace my steps, and as 
I passed a clump of junipers, my at- 
tention was attracted by the soft notes 
of a guitar, struck with artistic skill. 
The air was plaintive, and after a few 
notes, a full rich voice rose in ac- 
companiment which I recognized as 
that of Miss Wallace. As she con- 
cluded I approached the spot unobserved. 
She was sitting on a mossy rock, rapt 
in deepest thought. In one hand she 
held a small guitar while the other sup- 
ported her head. I had seen her in the 
full blaze of fashion, lovely beneath its 
fitful glare, yet fairer was the scene 
before me than the wildest fancy of the 
opium-eater ever dreamt of. I stood 
for several minutes loath to dispel this 
trance. As I approached, she started, 



and seemed surprised, but soon recover- 
ing herself she said, "I am afraid that 
you will acquit yourself but poorly as a 
sportsman." " But," replied I, " you 
must admit that my sport has taken a 
romantic turn in this instance." She 
blushed but made no reply. Seating 
myself beside her I begged her to favor 
me with a song ; she readily assented, 
and turning her instrument, saner the 
soldier's farewell. Why did she select 
this one of all others, so adapted to my 
present situation ? Probably if she had 
not, I would have been saved the pain 
of this narration. I was perfectly 
motionless as her voice swelled into 
a full rich burst, then sank into a plain- 
tive strain, and then came the words, 

" Beside that lonely hearth a maiden knelt in 

A soldier turned upon his swoid and wiped 

away a tear." 

The effect was like magic, and in an 
instant I was at her feet, and seizing 
her hand, declared, ia passion's wildest 
strain my undying love. "Tell me 
dearest Ada, tell me, could you mistake 
my feelings ? could the flame that is 
consuming the life-current of my heart 
escape a woman's eye ? tell me is there 
— is there balm in Gilead for loving 
hearts ?" And though it was all done 
in less time than I have taken to relate 
it, yet her quivering hand and drooping 
head told me the prize was won, and 
clasping her to my bosom, in one wild 
transport, I imprinted a burning kiss on 
her crimson cheek : the time flew by so 
rapidly that ere we were aware of it, 
the dews of evening had damped her 
ringlets, and slowly rising, we strolled 
reluctantly towards the mansion. " But, 

promise me, Walter," she said, " that 
you will resign your commission in the 
army. Think what a life of peril is be- 
fore you, and give up this mad longing 
after glory." "No," replied I, " my 
life misspent requires some attonement 
ere I can merit your love. In one short 
year I will return and throw the victor's 
laurels at your feet." In vain she 
besought me, my plan was fixed, and 
early on the next morning, I was hurry- 
ing gayly towards London, and in a few 
days was ploughing the main towards 
America. We landed at New Orleans 
where General Jackson was lying with 
an American army, and we were in 
daily expectation of a battle. It was with 
a bosom fired with ambition that I first 
set foot on American soil, where valor 
was to win for me the victor's wreath. 
Weeks and months passed, and several 
letters were exchanged between my be- 
trothed and myself breathing the same 
spirit of undying love. By degrees, 
however, her letters became less frequent, 
and I imagined less affectionate. At last 
a full month had elapsed and I had re- 
ceived no letter, though I had written 
to her frequently. One day and, never 
shall I forget that day, it was the 
eve of the dreadful battle- of New Or- 
leans, a letter was handed me, it was in 
a lady's hand, and with throbbing heart 
and trembling hand I tore it open only 
to see the name of the being I adored 
subscribed to the most bitter reproaches, 
charging me with having won her heart 
and snapt its tendrils, — with having 
wooed and forgotten her, and having won 
an avowal of her love and mocked it — 
With fearful shock the thought flashed 



upon me, it was only a subterfuge to 
cloak her own want of constancy. 
Oh, could it be that words so pure, so 
earnest as those she breathed at our 
parting eould corne from a soul so fickle ; 
and it was only when I had exhausted 
every other conjecture that the dreadful 
conviction sank with leaden weight into 
my maddened brain. 0, how bleak, how 
cold, how heartless seemed the world to 
me ! but a few months ago there was 
one haven into which I was steering my 
storm-tossed bark, one sunny shore 
where this wearied head might have 
been at rest, but this last gust had swept 
me again with redoubled violence into 
the darkling main ; and now I stood 
with something like calm desperation 
watching with grim satisfaction the fury 
of the storm that was hurrying me 
onward to destruction. I retired to my 
tent, not to sleep, but only to brood 
over my sorrow, too proud to show 
my anguish in any thing like an attempt 
at a reconciliation, for scathing indeed 
would have been the pangs that could 
force a tear from the proud heart of a 
De Lacy. The scene that to-morrow's 
sun was to usher in was strangely con- 
genial to my feelings, and the distant 
firing of the picket, and the deep tone 
of the cannon fell with soothing effect on 
my frenzied spirit. At first peep of 
dawn the shrill revielle summoned the 
sleeping host to arms, to prepare for the 
stern drama that was about to be enact- 
ed. Veterans from many a hard-fought 
battle ; raw recruits about to flash their 
maiden swords, hair-brained ruffians, 
whose sunken eye and unruffled mien 
bespoke their indifference to the result, 

others, whose pallid cheek and anxious 
glance told that they were thinking of a 
wife and little ones in some cottage 
home far over the rolling billows ; 
gallant officers with their prancing 
steeds and waving plumes, thirsting 
after glory ; all were there, but there 
was one who looked forward to the 
approaching contest as the goal of all 
his miseries. Ere the sun had lit for an 
hour the scene around, the army was in 
motion ; long surried columns moved 
slowly towards the scene of action, audit 
was a grand sight to see their burnished 
arms glittering in the morning rays, 
bright uniform, and waving banner. But 
many a bosom that throbbed exultingly 
in those squadrons grew still that day, 
and many an arm, stong with the nerve 
of early manhood, now lies mouldering 
beside the Mississippi's flood. "We 
halted at a considerable distance from 
the enemy preparatory to the charge. 
The 33d., my regiment, was selected 
for the onset, and myself to lead it. We 
advanced to the van and awaited the 
signal. I looked with sullen indifference 
at the frowning batteries, for what was 
life to me ; my charger too seemed 
anxious for the shock, champed his bit, 
and pawed the earth with fiery im- 
patience as if conscious of his rider's 
impatience. At the first note of the 
clarion, the devoted regiment went 
thundering onward to destruction ; as 
we drew near, a supernatural stillness 
hovered over the breastworks of the 
enemy ; then, as if by magic, a lurid 
flame shot along the line, the earth 
shook, and, strewed with the dying and 
the dead, told but too well its deadly 



effect. The smoke rolled over us, and 
quicker than the lightning, flash after 
flash lit up the gloom, so that when we 
reached the ditch scarce a fifth remained 
of my gallant regiment. Manfully they 
stood their ground, hut human nature was 
not equal to the task, and breaking, they 
fled in confusion. I turned my horse's 
head to where the fight was raging hot- 
test, the advance retreated, formed and 
charged again. I rushed into the thick- 
est of the fight, the grape and musket 
balls whistled by me, but none had com- 
passion on my misery. Oh, how death 
will shun us when the heart, crushed 
with the weight of the world's distress, 
longs for the peace and quiet of the 
grave. A retreat was sounded, and with 
humbled pride the vanquished army 
withdrew. A few short months brought 
peace to the two distracted nations, but 
not to me. With mournful silence I 
parted with my companions, but especi- 
ally with Lane, who seemed to feel 
a brother's sympathy for me in my mis- 
fortune. Little did I dream that in his 
false and dastard heart he was plotting 
my ruin ; that while the one hand was 
extended in token of everlasting friend- 
ship, the other clutched the dagger that 
was to stab my peace. For several 
months I roamed about, determined 
never to return to the home of my na- 
tivity to witness the triumph of some 
successful rival ; who he might be I 
cared not, it was sufficient for me to 
know that my own bright hopes were 
crushed never to rise. After the lapse 
of a year the unexpected intelligence 
reached me that my father was dead. 
He believed me to be travelling for my 

own amusement among the wonders of 
the new world, for so I had informed 
him. This altered my determination, 
and I resolved to set out immediately 
for England, and secure my estate, 
thence to return and end my days in 
America. Hastening to New York, I 
entered a packet for London. You may 
judge of my feelings as I hove in sight 
of a place, the very thoughts of which 
called up so many painful reflections. 
How different were my emotions from 
those which filled my bosom, when, just 
eighteen months before, I stood upon 
deck, and gazed upon its fast receding 
spires. A change had come over the 
spirit of my dream, and with a sickening 
sensation, I stepped ashore, determined 
to avoid as much as possible, my old 
acquaintances. After some days an 
irresistible desire seized me to learn 
something of the circumstances that had 
wrought such a mighty change in the 
tide of my affairs, and remembering 
that there was an old nurse of Miss 
Wallace's living in the city, I determin- 
ed to seek her out, and learn from her 
all that had transpired. Accordingly, 
after some difficulty, I found her res- 
idence. She was an estimable old 
Scotch lady who had superintended the 
earlier days of Miss Wallace's life, and 
was now living on her bounty. Her 
surprise at seeing me was unbounded. 
My altered appearance startled her, 
but she almost immediately started up 
and exclaimed : " ! Mr. Le Lacy ! 
Mr. De Lacy ! I knew you would 
come to save my poor bairn." Then 
suddenly checking herself she exclaim- 
ed, '•' 'tis too late ! 'tis too late ! the 



poor child's heart is broken with watch- 
ing for you, but it will be an unco pleas- 
ure to see you before she dies. Why 
did you not come to save the blithesome 
thing from so early a death ? but I 
know that they told you that she had 
forgotten you. ! you little ken the 
good thing's heart, if you thought that 
she would not have gone to the end of 
the earth for ane glance of your eye — 
they wearied her until she consented to 
marry Mr. Lane, but she knew that she 
would never be called upon to fulfill her 
promise, for she felt the icy hand of 
death working at her vitals, and she 
consented that she might die in peace." 
Something of the dread reality now flash- 
ed upon me. I had been duped — duped by 
a man who under the cloak of friendship 
had wrought this deep-laid design ; he 
had judged but too well that my haughty 
temperament would lead me to forsake 
England for ever, but heaven had de- 
creed that his villainy should be exposed, 
and the image of her constancy installed 
for ever in my heart. To my inquiries 
concerning her mistress she replied, that 
for a long time she had continued to 
write to me, but receiving no answer, 
she at last concluded that I had deserted 
her, and her constitution was insuffi- 
cient to support the shock, and she was 
now upon her death bed. The mystery 
was at once unravelled. Lane had 
been superintendent of the post office 
at camp and had intercepted all our 
letters, answering them as best suited 
his hellish designs. Bitterly did I re- 
proach myself for my proud contempt 
of my own misfortune. I set out early 
the next morning for Wallace Mansion, 

determined to implore forgiveness from 
her dying lips. As I passed along the 
same road that I had travelled only a 
year and a half before, filled with deep 
remorse and crushed in spirits, it seemed 
that years only could have wrought such 
a change ; every thing seemed clad in 
mourning ; the porter was sitting in 
sadness at the door, and but for him the 
place looked deserted. The Autumn wind 
whistled sadly by, and the very air ap- 
peared to partake of the general gloom. 
The first person I recognized, as I dis- 
mounted, was the father, but the coldness 
with which he received me told that me 
he considered me the murderer of his 
daughter. With faltering tongue I told 
him all, and bursting into tears he 
grasped my hand and exclaimed ; " she is 
dying ! dying ! yes, my poor, poor child is 
dying ! but follow me, you shall receive 
her forgiveness, for she can not die easy 
unless she hears it all from you." I 
followed him into a chamber darkened 
and still as the grave, with the exception 
of an occasional moan or a deep-drawn 
sigh. As I approached, he threw back 
the curtain and revealed to me the 
features of the dying girl ; the sight so 
completely unmanned me that I started 
back What a change ! there was 
the same loveliness in her face as when 
first I saw her in the full glow of health 
and youth, but now her cheek was 
white as alabaster, her eye was soften- 
ed not dimmed by the ravages of the 
fever, and her long black ringlets, fall- 
ing in profusion about her face, so pale, 
gave an expression that did not belong 
to earth Slowly she opened her eyes, 
and as they fell upon me a heavenly 



smile played upon her face, lovely even 
in death. As I threw myself at the 
bed-side and clasped her clammy hand 
she exclaimed in feeble accents : " 
Walter! Walter ! have you come to mock 
my last moments or to seek forgiveness ? 
have you come to triumph over the 
ruin you have wrought, or did they de- 
ceive you ?" With hurried voice I 
told her all that had transpired fearing 
that death might snatch her away while 
yet under the conviction of my perfidy. 
When I finished, her pallid face grew 
radiant with smiles ; " Come near me," 
she said, " that I may bless you — that 
death's gathering gloom alone may dim 
my last fond gaze on thee." I started 
up, but the death damp had settled 
upon her marble brow, and with one 
long drawn breath her troubled heart 
grew still, her clammy hand still re- 
mained in mine, her last longing look 
strll rested upon me, and it seemed that 
her last adieu still rested upon her lips. 
With soul maddened to desperation, I 
turned and left the place. I could not 
weep, for the fountain of my tears was 
dry, and there was a burning sensation 
in my throat that almost suffocated me 
and yet there was another feeling that 
soothed me, and that was revenge, and 
often did I vow that the villain who had 
robbed me of my prize should not escape 
my vengeance. I hurried back to Lon- 
don and wrote immediately to Lane. 

" It is needless for me to in- 
form you that your cursed villainy has 
been detected. You have violated the 
sacred pledges of friendship, and perjur- 
ed your blackened soul, but with heaven's 
help you shall pay the penalty of your 

crimes — choose immediatelyyour weap- 
ons and a place of meeting." 

In a few minutes I received his an- 
swer in the same tones of hatred and 
defiance. Sunrise on the ensuing 
morning was selected as the time, pis- 
tols the weapons, and the place of meet- 
ing an Inn about twelve miles distant. 
The dawn was fast approaching and I 
procured a second and started immedi- 
ately for the appointed place. As I 
dashed off there came a lurid flash of 
lightning and a hoarse deep muttering 
of thunder from an inky cloud that was 
hovering over head. My horse became 
frightened and dashed madly along the 
turnpike, " torrents less rapid and less 
rash," the thunder grew louder until 
the whole heavens seemed to be rent 
asunder, while the forked lightning 
gleamed and darted above me and the 
large drops struck me with a force that 
told the fearful speed at which I was 
hurried along. To a mind less excited 
than mine, the scene would have been 
awful, but it served only to nerve me 
for the approaching contest — for that 
fearful fury of the elements was scarce- 
ly more violent than that which was 
raging in my own heart. At the 
time appointed we were both on the 
ground. I had not seen Lane since we 
parted on the wharf at Orleans, but 
time had wrought a mighty change. I 
parted with him as a brother, and now 
met him as a deadly foe. I had been 
on the ground a few minutes when he 
arrived; as he passed me a deadly pale- 
ness seized him. I know not whether it 
was iny own fierce glance of withering 
hatred or the consciousness of his crime, 



but he trembled like an aspen. No at- 
tempt was made at a reconciliation, 
the bare mention of it would have been 
mockery ; and we immediately took our 
stations and stood gazing upon each 
other with the ferocity of tigers, for all 
signs of trepidation had left him ani 
with compressed lips and erect form, he 
awaited the signal. I maintained the 
same air of indifference, for it appeared 
that heaven's curse rested upon me, and 
I was willing to die if my dying grasp 
could throttle him. The signal was 
the word fire ; slowly, gloomy came those 
portentous minutes, at two, both pistols 
were raised, and as the word fire burst 
from his lips, both simultaneously ex- 
ploded. A burning sensation shot along 
my right side and the warm blood came 
trickling down. Lane dropped his pistol, 
clasping his hands, staggered a few steps 
and fell. I refused to avail myself of 
surgical aid, — " back," I cried, " I will 
see him die, though my own life blood 
were ebbing, it should not deprive me 
of this last of heaven's boons." I hast- 
ened to the spot ; he was lying on his 
back and the turf around was crimson 
with the gore that issued from a wound 
in his left breast. The surgeon ap 
proached to probe the wound, but stept 
back with an ominous shake of the 
head. " 'Tis of no use," he said, "to 
torture him. No human power can 
save him." Lane too was conscious of 
his doom, and motioning them back, he 
said to me, in a husky voice, " come 
near to me for my voice is failing. Why 
have you sought to take my life ? why 
did you clip my young ambition ? have 
I done aught to win Miss Wallace that 

you would not have done ? But I am 
going fast, a film is gathering over my 
sight, may she live to bless you and may 
this last pang atone for the wrong you — " 
" Out, " cried I, "vile dissembler; 
is not the ocean of eternity swim- 
ming upon you enough to still your per- 
jury ? Are not the legions of hell that 
await thy ghost-receding soul enough to 
hush thy falsehood ? Miss Wallace is 
done with these earthly trials and has 
gone to the judgment seat of her Maker, 
whither you too must soon follow. Yes, 
her broken heart is there to testify thy 
guilt, and if aught else be needed, may 
you carry with you my own curse to 
damn your craven soul." — It seemed 
that all the demons of hell had lent me 
their aid to heap my anathemas upon 
the dying man. I know not how long I 
continued, but my second approached 
and whispered to me that he was dead — 
With one loathing glance at his stiffen- 
ing form, I turned and lefthim." While 
the old man described this last scene 
his eyes glared, the color that had 
long been a stranger to that wan 
cheek, came and went, and with clench- 
ed teeth, and contracted brow, he sat 
like one in a trance; but by degrees, his 
face recovered its wonted melancholy, 
his brow relaxed, and turning once more 
to me he resumed the recital in a calm 
tone. " In a few days I was on my 
return to America. For some time I 
wandered among the Northern States, 
but happening to be traveling in this 
State, I visited this place, and finding 
its simplicity of manners and kindness 
of heart so adapted to my situation, 
I determined to make it my home. Here 



I find a refuge from the vain disply of all 
that the world calls splendor, hut which 
to my frozen heart is only the mockery 
of a vain and deceitful race. But these 
sufferings cannot continue long, for 
sharp pangs that ever and anon are dart- 
ing through my heart, warn me that this 
earthly tabernacle is tottering to decay, 
and when you hear that the strife is 
o'er, come and mark a simple slab with 
the inscription, " Sacred to the memory 
of the Broken-hearted Stranger." As 
the evening was now nearly spent we 
arose and departed homeward. The 
excitement that lit his emaciated face 
had departed, and he became more de- 
jected than I had ever seen him, and 
the painful expression that rested on his 
brow told too plainly that death indeed 
had set his seal upon him. We reach- 
ed his home and I remained with him till 
a late hour attempting to dispel his sad- 
ness, but finding that he was growing 
more melancholly, I took my leave of 
him. Early the ensuing morning I re- 
paired to his room. The door was still 
closed, the unordinary thing filled me 
with dire forebodings. I approached the 
bed and drew back the curtains. But 
what was my horror to find him cold and 
stiff. The last spark that had so long 
lingered amid the smouldering embers 
of his heart's sad ruin had become ex- 
tinct. His brow no longer wore that 
troubled expression so common to it in 
life. He seemed as one asleep, and in 
that calm resigned look, I read his 
dying hope, that he was going to join 
in death the one he loved in life. We 
buried him in a shady dell beside a 
dashing streamlet, where the robin 

might carol his requiem in spring, and 

the wild flowers spring fresh upon the 

grave of the "Broken-hearted Strang- 

Summer Rambles. 

The last buds of spring had become 
the flowers of summer. Chilling blasts 
had subsided and given way to the 
zephyr's breath, while the transitory 
clouds, brighter suns, and seemingly 
lingering hours began to tell of a season 
when nature is all loveliness and most fit- 
ted for communion. 'Twas the time when 
twilight lingers Ions; on the earth, and 
the last rays of the setting sun leave 
slowly the scene of beauty and gran- 
deur. The time when the " lowing 
herd winds slowly o'er the lea," and a 
gentle music seems to dwell on every 
sound, as if a lullaby were recpired for 
all terrestrial things. Then was it, in 
this season of summer, that a feeling of 
change began to arise in my bosom. I 
had exhausted all my stock of patience 
in the performance of five months' col- 
lege duties, and the last hours of a day 
in June, eighteen hundred and fifty-six, 
found me lonely and pensive. With 
considerable " collateral aid," I had run 
safely the gauntlet of an examination, 
and with a pretty good share of native 
brass, I had borne myself right gallant- 
ly during commencement week. Yet, on 
the evening I have mentioned, I was in 
a blue way, and my mind casting dark 
shadows. I was seated 'neath my 
window, looking to the west, and fancy- 
ing myself a devout follower of the sad 



philosophy of the poor widow Gum- 
midge. I was thinking, too, 

" I have not loved the world, nor the world 

and was just in the act of proposing to 
" .chum" to renounce the world and 
bury himself with me in seclusion, when 
the sight of a hill, in the distance, re- 
minded me of the mountains, and I, 
being anxious of terrestrial elevation, 
immediately made up my mind for a 
" trip." Accordingly nest day, I ga- 
thered up my " little notions," and 
like the star of Empire, " westward" 
took my way. Depositing myself in the 
cars, I was borne rapidly away, and night 
found me safely landed in Salem, injuring 
nothing save the landlord's larder and 
drinking only — ice-water. Resting here 
long enough to hear a Dutch sermon, I 
was again " en-route" for the mountains, 
and the scenery by the wayside, seem- 
ed any thing else than solitude; for 
either rustic instinct or poetic im- 
agination was making me wish for a 
" lodge in some vast wilderness." 
Though by no means afflicted with sen- 
timentalism, I have, nevertheless, always 
found something grand and interesting 
in a deep and boundless forest, and I 
often feel in my heart the truth: 

" There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There i3 a rapture in the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 
I love not man the less, but nature more, 
From these our interviews in which I steal 
From all I may be, and have been before, 
To mingle with the universe, and feel 
"What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all 

In the halcyon days of school-boy 
memory, I dreamed my brightest dreams 
in my wanderings 'neath the shady 
trees and by the murmuring streams of 
the " sunny South," and if these dreams 
and hopes have all gone away with my 
boyish fancy, I cannot but love the 
scenes that once prompted and nourish- 
ed them. But to proceed. 

Silently, and wrapped in my own 
meditations, I journeyed on, and my mu- 
sings vanished by the stage driver an- 
nouncing our approach to a village. An 
entrance and close inspection soon fur- 
nished me whh its character. The 
houses which composed it were three in 
number, post-office, blacksmith shop and 
church. The last of these, was certain- 
ly a curiosity and worthy of a location 
in " Sleepy Hollow" in the palmy clays 
of Ichabod Crane and Brom Dutcher. 
It was rather small, and by no means 
capable of containing the " whole world 
and the rest of mankind." My first im- 
pression, on observation, was that one 
part of it had been reserved as a 
home for martins, but what I took for 
the residence of these fussy creatures, 
proved to be light-holes, a sad proof of 
the scarcity of window glasses in that 
country. My thoughts at that time 
were, that the " Yunga Merikah," the 
" fast" son of " Pluribustah," had never 
troubled them with his notions of change, 
and were a railroad car to pass near, 
they would, like all " true Americans," 
hold indignation meetings over the 
" invasion of foreigners." On a stone 
slab, near the church, was engraved, 
" settlement commenced 1753," and a 
veneration for its antiquity soon banish- 



ed from my mind all feelings of levity, 
and carried my imagination far back 
through the lapse of gliding years. The 
scene of its settlement was all before me. 
The ruddy-cheeked Dutchman with his 
faithful wife and blooming children, here 
pitched his tent, and found a resting 
place from his long pilgrimage. His 
restless spirit had chafed under the op- 
pression of the Old "World. A report 
bad travelled to his ancient home, and 
it inspired bim with such hope, as the 
shepberds of Betblebem felt wben they 
gazed upon that star that first spoke 
hope to fallen man. It shed its glow 
around the humble cabin of his in- 
heritance. He told the cheering news 
to his neighbors, and amid their en- 
thusiasm, might have been heard ex- 
pressions of a land where nature rose 
untrammeled in her majesty and the 
conscience was unbound. In a short 
time a vessel might have been seen 
struggling on the ocean, and again, close 
by where the church now stands, the 
Dutchman felling the trees, and a cabin 
going up to be one pillar in the struc- 
ture of this since mighty Republic. 
Here he rested under his own " vine 
and fig tree," worshipped God after the 
dictates of his conscience, told to the 
rising generation legends of his own 
Fatherland, and passed away to mingle 
with kindred dust. I may be pardoned 
for this short notice of the earlier scenes 
of Old Town, as I have a great respect 
for the " olden time," and always refer 
to it with pleasure. Stopping in this 
aforesaid village long enough to change 
mail, the stage pursued its way and 
carried me on in a jolting manner to- 

wards the Pilot Mountain. Towards 
evening I was astonished by a sudden 
view of the great curiosity of North 
Carolina, and in my admiration I grew 
really patriotic and exclaimed : 

"Land of the South ! Imperial clime ! 
How proud thy mountains rise !" 

But a short time elapsed before I reached 
the Pilot House, and quartered myself 
for a season. I was contenting myself 
to have a lonely time, when the arrival 
of acquaintances gave a new phase to 
circumstances, and quite delighted me. 
The party who arrived consisted of two 
gentlemen and four ladies. They were 
travelling on the same errand with my- 
self, seeking pleasure amid mountain 
scenery. After we met, we formed the 
merriest company in the world. Of the 
two gentlemen, one is worthy of special 
notice, as I considered him the richest 
specimen of the " genus homo" it had 
ever been my good fortune to meet. 
He was a Doctor and a bachelor, choosing 
the former profession, as I suppose, from 
sympathy with suffering humanity, and 
the latter, as he observed, not that he 
loved matrimony less, but that he loved 
single wretchedness more. Though 
somewhat approaching the age of the 
" sear and yellow leaf," he was as 
gay as if no more than twenty sum- 
mers had passed over his head. He 
was a most inveterate foe to sadness, 
and, if opposed by it, would destroy it 
without mercy. He is at home any 
where, and I verily believe he would be 
content to live in a desert without " one 
fair being for a minister." We had not 
been together long before the ladies, 



indulging their notions of romance, in- 
sisted upon seeing sunrise from the Pin- 
nacle of the Pilot, and the gallant Doc- 
tor siding with them, the voices of the 
majority were in favor of an early start 
next morning. 

Accordingly we retired, and I was 
dreaming of rides on Pegasus and other 
flighty things, when I was awakened by 
the Doctor and bidden to prepare for 
the journey. I arose slowly, wishing 
the Pilot wasn't in North Carolina, or 
the sun wouldn't rise at all, and cast 
many a longing look on the " bed I had 
left behind me." Two of the young 
ladies had already risen, and looked as 
natural as if they were accustomed to 
early rising ; a thing which I could hard- 
ly realize, for I imagined a sunrise would 
be a curiosity to them when seen through 
a window glass. But ladies, as Porte 
Crayon would say, have such a way of 
getting on the blind side of a fellow, 
that they make him believe almost any 
thing, and when they spoke of the 
bracing effect of the morning air, and 
the beauty of vanishing shades, and 
many other pretty things ; why, I thought 
they enjoyed it just as much as if they 
were reading Childe Harold's Last Lay 
of the Minstrel, and looking at the 
moon through the shutters ; or copying 
the latest fashions from the Lady's Book 
or Harper's Magazine. But to tell of 
our trip. 

The two ladies being supplied with 
escorts, I preceded the party, and 
ascended the Pinnacle some time in ad- 
vance. I had scarcely taken my seat 
on one of those rough rocks that form a 
part of the Pinnacle's crown, when an 

illumination in the east warned me that 
Sol was coming. Brighter and bright- 
er grew the light, until flashing with 
splendor, Phcebus smiled upon the 
earth. This was the most magnificent 
sight I ever beheld ; being beautiful be- 
yond all description. The scene filled 
me with all sorts of fantastic notions. I 
thought that, may be, from the same 
spot, the red man once hailed with his 
mysterious homage, the coming sun, or 
reposed here neath the panoply of 
stars and " wooed his dusky bride." I 
thought of the Alpine horn that heralds 
the same advent to sleeping mortals, 
and fancied I heard the shepherd's pipe 
and the maiden's song. I cast my eyes 
on bright sheets of water reposing in the 
distance and smiling in the first light of 
morn, and my heart giving way to gen- 
tle impressions, I was saying almost un- 
consciously : 

" Clear placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
That warns me with its stillness to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring." 

Again were seen green meadows and 
wheat fields, and at intervals smoke was 
rising from rustic habitations and mix- 
ing with the clouds, telling of the abode 
of domestic happiness. Away off, arose 
the heads of the Blue Ridge and Al- 
leghanies, looking as the barriers to op- 
pression and the defence of freedom. 

I claim a better authority than " po- 
etical license," when I say, that these 
scenes seemed to elevate me above the 
thoughts of every-day life, and to make 
me find association in a higher region at 
a time when 

" God alone was to be seen in heaven." 



A mind of the greatest levity will grow 
thoughtful under the influences of na- 
ture, The greatest wretch in crime and 
wickedness, will here find something to 
upbraid and call him to repentance. 
A greater voice than that of man is here 
heard, and its influence is better and 
more substantial. I have often wondered 
how religion could exist in a gay and 
populous city. How it could resist the 
seductive influences of fashion, intrigue, 
and selfishness. How, sustaining itself 
apart from the sanction of popular 
opinion, it could rise in original purity 
and assert its faith in the promise, that 
" blessed are the poor in spirit ; for 
theirs is the kingdom of heaven." 

The sun had fairly arisen and was 
ascending into a cloud, when the party 
arrived, and the ladies of course declar- 
ed the scene was perfectly lovely, though 
they had not seen much of it. My 
friend, the Doctor, was passionate in his 
expressions of admiration and quoted 
poetry to an alarming extent. This, 
however, was soon interrupted by rain, 
and we were compelled to seek pro- 
tection for the ladies, which we found 
in some " quasi" caverns 'neath the 
rocks. Soon the rain ceased, and the 
clouds breaking away, we once more 
looked upon the " wave of corn fields" 
and the " abodes of men." 

As if the topic was suggested by the 
combined influences of time, place and 
association, a discussion was commenced 
on matrimony, and the Doctor by com- 
mon acquiescence was main debater and 
general orator of the clay. We all ex- 
pressed a good deal of curiosity to know 
why he had never married. Whether 

it was from the sad fact that his love 
had been blighted, and refused to bud 
again, or the result of predetermined 
singularity and " malice aforethought." 
" Well, ladies and gentlemen," said he, 
" I have always been a foe to tyrannical 
government, and, I must confess, I 
never had an idea of matrimony that 
was not connected with a broom-stick 
and curtain lectures." "But Doctor," 
said one of the ladies, " yours might 
have been a better destiny." 'Tis but 
a leap in the dark," said he, " and I 

" 'Tis better to bear the ills "we have, 
Than fly to others we know not of." 

and which, in my opinion, begging your 
pardon, are much worse and more in- 

" Well," but said one, "is it not 
better to suffer in this manner, than to 
be a slave to base and degrading senti- 
ments, such as hatred and suspicion of 
mankind and indifference to the real 
goodness of woman ?" " No, no," an- 
swered he, "womanocracy is the worst of 
all governments, and I had rather " be 
a kitten and cry mew", than to be the 
puppet of a lady, " a meek-eyed, hen- 
pecked husband ;" and here he quoted 
some poetry portraying the horrible 
situation of a married man, which was 
really staggering in its effects. In fact, 
it seemed to silence all our batteries, 
when a glance at the scene below had a 
wonderful effect on an enthusiastic 
gentleman of the company and he at- 
tacked the Doctor with renewed courage: 
"Look," said he, "upon that smoke 
that rises from yon rustic roof ; see that 



smiling wheat field and those herds go- 
ing out from their nightly folds — these 
are emblems of domestic happiness, and 
if you enter that humble cabin; I war- 
rant you will find a woman there, giving 
by her presence, peace and cheerfullness 
to every thing around. If there is any 
heaven on earth, it must linger in the 
remembrance of home endearments." 

" Ah ! my young friend," replied the 
Doctor, " you are too imaginative; but 
I hope no painful reality may interrupt 
your morning dreams, though I greatly 
fear your enthusiasm will fade away and 
you yet become a stoic ;" and again he 
quoted his omnipotent rhyme,which de- 
molished every thing, and made him 
victor of the contest. From our im- 
perfect shelter we all got thoroughly 
wet, and despite all our efforts could 
not raise a fire. After a protracted 
stay on the mountain, we descended, 
and reached our landlord's with a good 
relish for dinner and rest. We passed 
several days very agreeably together, 
and I am not certain that the bright 
eyes of one of the ladies failed to 
have their effect on my bachelor 
friend, for he grew more and more 
poetic, and even favored us with a love 
song, — the first intimation of parting I 
had from him, for I found him with 
melancholy aspect emphatically repeat- 

" Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath 

A sound that makes us linger ; — yet — fare- 
well !" 

The sad day came, and the ladies left 

us, the Dootor fainting in grief, and 

myself wishing for a vehicle to follow 


Leaving the Pilot I took a solemn 
farewell of my old friend, of whom I 
shall ever entertain the most pleasant 
recollections, and started forth for 
new adventures. My!next stopping place 
was Piedmont Springs, in Stokes Coun- 
ty, North Carolina', and to those who 
love picturesque scenery, this must be 
a very interesting resort. It reminded 
me very much of Alpine regions as de- 
scribed by travellers. It is literally 
fenced in by mountains, and is the 
wildest looking country I ever saw. 
The water is a very strong chalybeate, 
and gushes from a rock in the hill-side. 
About two miles distant is the Cascade, 
which is very beautiful and well worth 
a visit. Near by is situated the little 
town of Danbury, the county seat of 
Stokes, and contains an hotel, court house 
and grocery. It is not famous as a 
" central point for railroads," yet, never- 
theless, communicates with the rest of 
mankind by way of a mail rider. The 
company at Piedmont during my stay, 
consisted of three, and all told ; two 
very pleasant gentlemen from Salisbury 
and myself. The place was far from 
being dreary, for we had many resources 
of our own, and what we lacked in re- 
ality we supplied by calling on imagi- 
nation. We eat heartily, smoked im- 
moderately, and , drank mineral water. 
Occasionally some of the country peo- 
ple would come in, and give a variety to 
circumstances, and part of our company 
once went to church. The preacher 
was a strong a Hard-shell"and Democrat, 
and seemed to labor very zealously for 
the destruction of Methodists and Know- 



After a week's stay at Piedmont and 
another trip to the Pilot, one of my new 
friends and myself visited Salem, where 
we attended a Picnic which came off 
ahout a mile from the place, and was 
exceedingly pleasant. We had dancing, 
mild wine, and a sweet song or two. The 
ladies had fine voices, and when, seated 
on a rude bench beneath a drooping 
willow, they sang the beautiful song 
of " Annie Laurie," I was completely 
carried away. I wondered how such 
perfectly innocent looking beings could 
ever take it into their heads to flirt a 
poor fellow ! 

Without any other incident of note, I 
found my way back to " classic shades," 
which are likely to cover me for some 
time, if I don't prove " refractory." 

And now the green of summer is 
changing into the bosom of autumn. 
The " last rose" lingers in sadness on 
its stem, and the jessamine with its fra- 
grance is gone and forgotten. The lily 
has laid its humble head meekly in the 
dust, and the modest violet refuses to be 
seen. The partridge's whistle is hushed, 
and the cooing of the dove has lon«; since 
been unheard. 

Thus fades the summer of Nature, but 
there is an eternal summer in the hearts 
of the good. It gives them sunshine 
and flowers when others know them not. 
It imparts to them a genial comfort, 
when others are freezing in despair, and 
furnishes a haven of rest when storms 
of sorrow shake the world. 

October, 1856. 

Flow on Sweet Stream, for ever Flow. 



Flow on, sweet stream, for ever flow, 

Through shady groves and fragrant vales, 

I like to list to the song so low 

You murmur to the evening gales ; 

It grew quite familiar to my ear, 

While wandering oft with a dear friend here. 

Flow on, bright stream, and never tire, 
Aye, glide on, rejoicing every day, 

Till the fountains at your head expire, 
Or all have passed from earth away ; 

Thus sped the life of my heart's best friend, 

Who in death found heaven at her journey's 

Flow on, loved stream, yon evening star 
Shall light the pathway that you roam, 

And when you have crossed earth's last bar, 
Then smile you to rest in your ocean home; 

But I must mourn by your waters blue, 

The loss of her who to my own heart grew. 

Flow on, flow on, dear stream, in pride, 
There is no power in thy waves 

That can bear off on thy glimmering tide, 
The spell that memory's hand engraves. 

The record of one so pure and true, 

Shall ever last while run thy waters blue. 

Yes, flow gently to thy ocean grave, 
And whisper to the yearning sea, 

While echo chants it from each wave, 
No joy on earth from sin more free, 

Than that two loving hearts once knew, 

When plighted first by thy waters blue. 

Flow on, with my blessings on thy breast ; 

The hand lhat guides thee to the main, 
Shall lead me to a land of rest, 

Where hearts shall meet with hearts 
My home whence shadowy forms I view, 
Now reflected in thy waters blue. 




With this number "begins the sixth vol- 
ume of the University Magazine, and, 
although it has been unavoidably delay- 
ed, we hope that our kind readers will 
not attribute it to negligence or want of 
energy on the part of the Editors. 

Owing to a want of punctuality, in 
paying up, on the part of the subscribers, 
Mr. Cooke has ceased its publication, 
and as the Editors are all students and 
have regular college duties to attend to, 
they were unable to make new arrange- 
ments at a very early period. 

However late our Magazine may be 
in appearing, however much some of 
our readers may complain of its delay, 
and however anxious some of our good 
friends maybe to rejoice over its down- 
fall, we flatter ourselves with the hope 
that before the appearing of the next 
number, we shall be able to establish it 
on a firmer basis than ever heretofore, 
as we now design going upon the cash 
system, and shall strictly adhere to the 
rule " payment in advance..'''' Although 
the Magazine has never paid the pub- 
lisher, the outstanding accounts far 
exceed the cost of publishing it : and 
we learn from Mr. Cooke that the Mag- 
azine is still improving and has been for 
some time ; though our good patrons do 
forget to pay up. 

Now, as we would hope and believe 
that there are none, ov few, at least, of 
our patrons who do not wish the Maga- 
zine success, and who would not be glad- 
dened by its prosperity, we feel somewhat 
assured, that, as soon as they are cognizant 
of the facts, they will send in their 

names accompanied by the sine qua non, 
and that our wheels will not soon again 
become motionless for the want of a lit- 
tle " cash oil." 

This seems easily and clearly enough 
understood ; but inasmuch as our pre- 
decessors attempted in vain to impress 
it upon the minds of our subscribers, 
we again make an appeal to them, that, 
as we are only the agents through whom 
this Periodical is kept in existence ; and 
while we a^e responsible for its contents, 
they ought, in all fairness and honesty, 
to relieve us of all responsibility for its 
publication by the regular payment of 
their subscriptions. 

And while we make this appeal to 
our subscribers, we would tender, as 
heretofore, our thanks to contributors, 
with the hope that they will continue 
their favors. 

The " Old North State," noted for 
her Revolutionary incidents, not want- 
ing in talent, (shown on all occasions 
whenever her interest, or the interest 
of the South required it,) has erected 
a University that may well be consider- 
ed her pride and glory, acknowledging 
but few, yea, very few superiors in the 
United States. It is now conceded on 
all hands that " Old Rip is waking up," 
and the more awake he becomes the 
more distinguished he becomes ; and 
while the University is ranked among 
the first of the land, as well in ability as 
in number ; and while her Magazine 
stands second to no periodical in the 
South, of like character, is it to be sup- 
posed for a moment, that it must be 
thus early and suddenly stopped in its 



brilliant career ? "We cannot believe it. 
It shall not be if we can prevent it. 

"While we would urge upon Southern- 
ers generally, and all North Carolinians 
especially, that the only Magazine in the 
State ought, by all means, to be sustain- 
ed ; we do not object to any body's 
patronizing other like Periodicals, if they 
think proper. 

We believe that the Magazine merits 
the support of the people, and they 
ought to assist the University in main- 
taining the reputation she has so justly 

Vacation is over, and another 
Tear is closed. "Winter is come again. The sweet 

Is a forgotten wind, and the strong earth 
Has laid aside its mantle to be hound 
By the frost fetter. There is not a sound, 
Save of the skater's heel, and there is laid 
An icy finger on the lip of streams, 
And the clear icicle hangs cold and still, 
And the snow-fall is as noiseless as a thought. 
Spring has a rushing sound, and Summer sends 
Many sweet voices with its odors out, 
And Autumn rustleth its decaying robe 
With a complaining whisper. Winter's dumb ! 
God made his ministry a silent one, 
And he has given him a foot of steel, 
And an unlovely aspect, and a breath 
Sharp to the senses — and we know that He 
Tempereth well, and hath a meaning hid 
Under the shadow of His hand. Look up j 
And it shall be interpreted— your home 
Hath a temptation now ! There is no voice 
Of waters with beguiling for your ear 
And the cool forest and meadows green 
Witch not your feet away ; and in the dells 
There are no violets, and upon the hills 
There are no sunny places to lie down. 
You must go in, and by your cheerful fire 
Wait for the offices of love, and her 
Accents of human tenderness, and feast 
Your eye upon the beauty of the young. 

It is a season for the quiet thought, 
And the still reckoning with thyself. The year 
Gives back the spirits of its dead, and time 

Whispers the history of its vanished hours ; 
And the heart, calling its affections up, 
Counteth its wasted ingots. Life stands still 
And settles like a fountain, and the eye 
Sees clearly through its depths, and noteth all 
That stirred its troubled waters. It is well 
That Winter with the dying year should come ! 

We need not inquire, fellow-students, 
if you have been well and have enjoyed 
yourselves since you left the Hill. Your 
countenances plainly show that health 
and pleasure you have had ; and now 
we hope that you have returned with 
firm resolutions to pursue your studies 
diligently until June, when we shall, 
again have an opportunity of visiting 
our friends and relatives. 

The experience of two vacations on 
Chapel Hill teaches us that there are 
few, very few, who would be benefited 
by spending their vacation on the Hill ; 
especially the winter vacation. 

When a student has been confined 
closely for five months, he needs a little 
recreation, a variety of scenery, a change 
of habits to some extent, and if he re- 
main here, he sees nothing new, he 
hears nothing new, his mind becomes 
wearied, his energies become dormant, 
his disposition restless, and then, " to 
drive off dull cares," he " makes friends" 
with " Captain Dexter," and a boon 
companion of " Captain Corn," and away 
goes his character ; down he throws 
self-respect, curses the day that gave 
him birth, impairs his constitution, and 
thus blasts his future prospects and the 
hope of his friends. 

It may be said, on the other hand, 
that while spending vacation here, we 
can read many good books which we 
otherwise would not, and that our minds 



will be kept free from the gayeties and 
frivolities of the world, and that, there- 
fore, we ought to be the better prepared 
to study. All this is true, but if five 
are ruined to every one benefited, would 
you not think it best for all to leave the 
Hill in vacation ? 

To those who are with us for the first 
time we would give our hearty welcome, 
and trust they have come to join the 
" working circle," and will ever main- 
tain that dignity of character, self- 
respect, and gentlemanly deportment so 
eminently exhibited upon matriculation. 

There are, emphatically/^^ courses' 
in college, and as you are not ac- 
quainted with them, we shall endeavor 
to give you a brief explanation of them, 
in order that you may choose the better 

One course is pursued by those who 
take great delight in deviling the Fa- 
culty ,ringing the bell,to the great annoy- 
ance of the whole town,drinking whiskey, 
getting on " benders ;" and they take 
great delight, too, in seeing who can be 
summoned before the Faculty oftenest, 
without being sent off. 

The other course is chosen by those 
who endeavor to perform all duties 
cheerfully, to act as men, to behave as 
well as they can, in a word to do what 
is right and avoid what is wrong. 

Anacreon's Gratulations to the Cicada, 

"Blissful insect ! what can be 
In happiness compared to thee ? 
Fed with nourishment divine. 
The dewy morning's sweetest wine, 
Nature waits upon thee still 
And thy fragrant cup doth fill ; 

All the friends that thou dost see, 

All the plants belong to thee ; 

All that summer hours produce, 

Fertile made with ripening juice, 

Man for thee dost sow and plough, 

Farmer he, and landlord thou. 

Thee the hinds with gladness hear, 

Prophet of the ripened year ; 

To thee alone of all the earth, 

Life is no longer than thy mirth, 

Happy creature ! happy thou 

Dost neither age nor winter know ; 

But when thou'st drunk, and danced and 

Thy fill, the flowry leaves among-, 

Sated with the glorious feast. 

Thou retirest to endless rest." 

Upon reading the above we were im- 
pressed with the idea that the Cicada 
and " Young America" have adopted 
the same motto, " live while you live." 
And what aglorious thing it is that we are 
permitted to live and enjoy the blessings 
of earth. But how much more glorious 
know that we can enjoy manifold 
blessings in the world to come ! 

Excess in the Pursuit of Knowledge. 

The principal end why we are to get 
knowledge here, is to make use of it for 
the benefit of ourselves and others in 
this world ; but if by gaining it we de- 
stroy our health, we labor for a thing 
that will be useless in our hands ; and 
if by harassing our bodies, (though with 
a design to render ourselves more use- 
ful,) we deprive ourselves of the abil- 
ities and opportunities of doing that 
good we might have done with a meaner 
talent, which Grod thought sufficient for 
us, by having denied us the strength to 



improve it to that pitch which men of 
stronger constitutions can attain to, we 
rob Grod of so much service, and our 
neighbor of all that help, which, in a 
state of health, with moderate know- 
ledge, we might have been able to per- 
form. He that sinks his vessel by over- 
loading it, though it be with gold, and 
silver, and precious stones, will give his 
owner but an ill account of his voyage. 

Advantages of the Diffusion of Knowledge 

An intelligent class can scarce ever 
be, as a class, vicious ; never, as a class 

The excited mental activity operates 
as a counterpoise to the stimulus of 
sense and appetite. The new world of 
ideas ; the new views of the relations of 
things ; the astonishing secrets of the 
physical properties and mechanical 
powers, disclosed to the well-informed 
mind, present attractions, which, unless 
the character is deeply sunk, are suf- 
ficient to counterbalance the taste for 
frivolous or corrupt pleasures; and thus, 
in the end, a standard of character is 
created in the community, which though 
it does not invariably save each in- 
dividual, protects the virtue of the mass. 
— Everett. 

of the Word of Grod. Boerhaave is said 
to have spent the first hour of every 
day in meditation on the sacred pages. 
Mr. Locke, the great metaphysician, 
recommends the study of the New Tes- 
tament ; and says that it has " God for 
its author, salvation for its end, and 
truth unmixed with error for its mat- 
ter." All the great Statesmen of the 
present day are frequently found poring 
over the pages of sacred history. 

No man ever rises to great distinction 
without some knowledge of the Bible. 

Then how important to make it the 
beginning and the ending, the first and 
the last Text-book we use. 

A Good Text-book. — Sir Isaac 
Newton, the greatest of Philosophers, 
was a diligent student of the Bible. 
Milton, the most sublime of poets, had 
his mind deeply imbued with the study 

" A word fitly spoken is like apples 
of gold in pictures of silver." 

" Whoso boasteth himself of a false gift 
is like clouds and wind without rain." 

" A man that beareth false witness 
against his neighbor is a maul, and a 
sword, and a sharp arrow. Boast not 
thyself of to-morrow." 

The following extract describes a 
good wife very well : 

" I saw her upon nearer view, 
A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
Her household motions light and free, 
And steps of virgin liberty, 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
A creature, not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food, 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and 



" And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A being breathing thonghtiul breath, 
A traveller between life and death ; 
The reason firm the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength and skill ; 
A perfect woman nobly planned, 
To warn, to comfort, to command ; 
And yet a spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light." 

And now young nien, whose "jularky" 
only such lines can describe, permit us 
to urce you to make every effort in your 
power to obtain both her heart and 

hand ; for such are very rare only 

om such have we ever seen, if we re- 
member rightly, and when we told her 
how hard we loved her, she vanished 
like a shadow, and we have never seen 
her since. ( "kicked," of course.) 

" Then while the stars are beaming 

Bright on the azure sky, 
When thro' the fadktg forest 

Cold the wild winds sigh, 

" Draw up thy little table 
Close to the fire, and write, 

Write to me soon in the morning, 
Or write to me late at night." 

The following was sent us by a female 
friend whom we delight to honor ; and 
we feel assured that upon reading it, our 
negligent correspondents will be aroused 
from their lethargy, gather their pens, 
&c, and favor us with "a few lines — " 

" Write to me very often, 

Write to me very soon — 
Letters to me are dearer 

Than loveliest flowers in June. 

" They are affection's touches 
Lighting up friendship's lamp, 

Plitting around the heart strings, 
Like fire-flies in the damp. 

" Write to me very often, 

Write in the joyous morn, 
Or at the close of evening, 

When all the day is gone. 

College Election. — On Saturday, 
24th of January, Mr. Lemuel C. Ben- 
bury of Edenton, was unanimously elect- 
ed Marshall by the senior class. (The 
election for Marshal has, heretofore, 
beeen by the whole body of students, 
but the Trustees have ordered it to be, 
in future, by the senior class.) And he, 
by virtue of the authority in him vested, 
has appointed Messrs. William Adams, 
of Greensboro', Jas. S. Baker, of Fla., 
Jno. D. Hawkins Jr., of Miss., and Wm. 
C. Lord, of Salisbury, Assistant Mar- 

Messrs. W. Bruce, of Va., John A. 
Gilmer Jr., of Greensborough, John M. 
-Jenkins, of Tarborough, Alexander C. 
McAllister, of Randolph, Wm. Sutton 
Jr., of Bertie, and Thomas Whitted, of 
Bladen were duly elected Ball-managers. 
The friends of these gentlemen beg 
leave to say that the present corps elect, 
is far better looking than those who 
thought themselves " remarkably hand- 
some" and " sent all the way to New 
York for their splendid regalia." 

We don't know where the present 
corps will get their regalia, or whether 
they will have any at all ; but we hope 
that regalia will be of minor importance 
with them. And judging from the 



character of the men, we can say that 
we believe they will endeavor to have 
the best Commencement that has been 
known in the " Old North State" for 
many years, and that they will spare no 
pains in rendering every visitor com- 
fortable, and in seeing that the ladies 
are " especially waited on." 

We look forward to the approaching 
Commencement with great anticipations, 
and cannot have the least hesitation in 
urging our friends, both male and female, 
to attend our next annual gala-day. 

To the ladies of the Old North 
State, we would say, " come one, come 
all" to our next Commencement, and 
by so doing, you will show to the world 
that you, at least, are not " dead to the 
progress of education." 

And to those who are desirous of 
changing their names and residences, we 
would say " come, now is the time" to 
select new homes. The markets will 
then be open, " the land sales will 
then begin'''' — about seventy may be sup- 
plied, and if you fail to come you may 
lose great bargains, and about seventy 
of you fail to get future chums. Then 
come, let us 

" Unite our hearts and join our hands, 

Tn every sacred tie of love ; 
Delighted shall each lover stand 

The virtue of his cause to prove. 

" Until the world is lost in fire, 

By order of the Trinity — 
The gazing world will e'er admire 

Our steadfast love and unity." 

Change in the Editorial Corps. 
— It is with deep regret, that we are 

forced to announce the withdrawal of 
W. H. Jordan from the corps. His 
early association with us had not only 
accustomed us to lean upon his counsel 
and appreciate his services as a co- 
worker in the duties of office, but 
endeared him to us by the stronger and 
more enduring ties of friendship. We 
cannot however murmur at his de- 
termination to labor in another field, 
and only hope, that, in his relations with 
others, he may make as many firm 
friends, as he has left behind. 

He has been appointed tutor in Wake 
Forest College and has forsaken the 
editor's sanctum and the student's 
gown, for the more responsible office of 
" teaching the young idea how to shoot." 
May the Forest-glades teem with joy 
for him ! may his shadow never grow 
less nor his dressing-gown loose ! 

We heartily congratulate ourselves, 
however, on the happy selection of a 
successor, made by the a portion of the 
class, and can but compliment them for 
their discretion. 

We were well aware, that for private 
reasons, many of the class were bitterly 
inimical to the Magazine, and we were 
at one time apprehensive, lest they 
should attempt a burlesque ; but it af- 
fords us great pleasure to state, that the 
names of all the candidates, whose elec- 
tion would have subjected us to ridicule, 
were prudently withdrawn, and all clash- 
ing interests reconciled and claims com- 
promised in the appointment of Mr. L. 
M. Jiggitts, the present worthy incum- 
bent, who, though he has carefully re- 
frained heretofore, despite the solicitation 
of friends, from accepting any college 



offices, is, we must say, without wishing 
to draw any invidious distinctions, the 
very best selection, that could have 
peen made. 


While we regret the irreparable loss of 
Professor A. Gr. Brown, so uni- 
versally beloved by the students both as 
a man and as a Professor, and the loss 
of Mr. Wetmore, we are highly pleased 
with the addition of Messrs. W. H. 
Smith, of Catawba, Professor of Mod- 
ern Languages, JohnKimberly of Nash- 
ville, Tenn., Professor of Agricultural 
Chemistry, and S. S. Jackson, of Pitts- 
borough, Peter E. Spruill, of War- 
renton, and Thad. Coleman, of Bun- 
con Tutors. The new Professors and 
Tutors have succeeded remarkably well 
in gaining the good will of the entire 
"body of students, as well as commanding 
proper respect. We hope they may 
ever continue thus well, and that their 
tempers may never become soured by 
long associations with the students. 

and comparatively, was very interesting 
and highly instructive. 

February 22d.— We were highly.edified 
by a sermon from Prof J. T Wheat, D. 
D., which was very interesting and well 
adapted to the occasion — we would be 
glad to see it in print, that we might 
read and meditate. 

To Contributors. — We feel our- 
selves under many obligations to those 
who have favored us with communications 
and hope for a continuance of their kind 
regard. We would also encourage 
those who have never contributed to 
our columns, to send in their com- 
positions. There are many such in 
college, who write well. We say to all, 
try. A good article is always welcome. 

But there is one thing which we wish 
all our contributors to bear in mind. 
Then communications must be written 
in a legible hand. We have neither 
time nor inclination to transcribe illegible 
manuscripts. Special attention must be 
paid to chirography. 

We would also suggest to some of 
our friends, who in other respects write 
very well, that it is important that they 
should give some atttention to orthog- 
raphy. We hope the bare mention of 
it may prove sufficient. 

We finally suggest to our contributors 
generally to send us in neat pages of 
manuscript, written on one side of the 
paper only — and you shall have, not only 
the printer's blessing, but the thanks 
of vour humble servants, the Editors. 

February 23d.— The regular college 
duties were suspended and an address 
delivered in the chapel by the Presi- 
dent, which more than paid for the loss 
of a whole week from college duties. It 
exhibited North Carolina historically 

We would invite attention to our 
leader in the present number. The 
subject is one which ought deeply to in- 
terest every student. The author is 
well known throughout ths State, as a 
writer of eminent ability. 



The first installment of " The Poetical 
Works of Philo Henderson" appears 
this month. The poems will be con- 
tinned throughout the two consecutive 

Our Exchanges. — We receive reg- 
ularly " Williams' Quarterly," " Yale 
Literary Magazine," " Georgia Univ. 
Magazine," " Knoxiana," Knox college, 
111., "Phi Sigma Magazine," University 
of Mi., " Oircasian Magazine," George- 
town, Ky., (Thank you, gentlemen, for 
your compliment.) " Stylus," of Bethany 
College, Va., and " N. C. Common 
School Journal." Our list of weekly 
and daily papers is so numerous that we 
cannot enumerate them. Suffice it to 
say, we receive nearly every paper 
published in N. C, and a few from Va., 
S. C, Mi., Fla., Ala., &c. 

We would remark, for the consolation 
of all lovers of concord, that the " Stand- 
ard" and "Register" (Raleigh), "Jour- 
nal" and "Herald" (daily, Willming- 
ton) ," Banner" and Herald," (Salis- 
bury), and " Observer," "Argus" and 
" Carolina" (Fayetteville,) always come 
together in the same mail, and look as 
peaceable as you please. It is true we 
have known a time when they looked as 
if they'd pitch into each other as quick 
as not, if any body would say scshreete ; 
but now, doubtless they are pacified. 

We must complain, though we desire 
not to be censorious, that some of our 
college exchanges occasionally dabble in 
politics, — our Northern friends, we 
mean. College Magazines, we suggest, 
should not be the vehicles of party slang 

and sectional jealousy. We have avoid- 
ed every thing connected with politics, 
and the same course has been pursued 
by all other Magazines south of Mason 
and Dixon's line, so far as our acquaint- 
ance extends, and we respectfully pro- 
test, Northern friends, against your con- 
tinual talk about " niggers." Suppose 
we were to get angry on the subject and 
mutually, exhaust the Billingsgate vo- 
cabulary, do you think that any body 
would be better or wiser ? Por the 
sake of peace in the family, stop it. 

Tribute of Respect. 

Dialectic Hall. Unit. N. C. 
Chafel Hill, Jan r y. 27, 1857. 

Our hearts are filled with sorrow when 
we are called upon to render this last 
tribute of regard to the memory of him, 
who has ever since his union with us, 
been to our Society so bright an orna- 
ment, and who was recently one of the 
ablest jurists at the bar of Tennessee. 

Judge Thomas L. Williams died 
at Nashville, Tennessee, on the 2d of 
December, 1856. He joined our body 
about fifty years since. So nobly did 
he perform every duty whilst here, his 
comrades crowned him with their high- 
est distinctions and taught us to cherish 
his image with fondest recollections. To 
us he was indeed a parent ; for there are 
very few now living whose names are 
inscribed so near the beginning of our 

As one after another of our literary 
fathers have fallen beneath the sod, our 



eyes were turning more and more di- 
rectly to this good and great man, who 
even in his seventieth winter bore pro- 
mise of a much longer career of useful- 
nesss and happiness. 

In the death of Judge Williams our 
State also.experiences the loss of a noble 
son. He was a native of Carolina, and 
though Tennessee was his immediate 
theatre of action in his latter days, yet 
that State could not bound the glory of 
his name, or the high esteem which all 
cherished for him who knew him as a 
statesman, friend or relative. 

The bar of Tennessee laments the 
death of Judge Williams as that of a 
father, — we realize in it the loss of one 
of our earliest and ablest founders, — and 
our State will shed over his grave the 
tears of a fond mother. 

Resolved, therefore : 
That in the death of Judge Thomas L 
Williams the Dialectic Society sustains 
the loss of one she loved to veneration, 
and whose memory shall live with us 
till the latest ages. 

That we mingle our deepest sym- 
pathies with those of the older relations 
of the deceased, and with his younger 
friends and relatives we lament the 
death of one who was endeared to us by 
all those generous feelings which unite 
most affectionately the children to a 
kind and aged parent. 

That a Copy of these resolutions be 
sent to the relations of the deceased, and 
and also to the Nashville and Knoxville, 
(Tennessee) papers, and the University 

Magazine with a request for publica- 

Cad. Polk, } 
Jas. P. Coffin, > Com. 
W. C. Down, ) 

Dialectic Hall, JarCy 31st., 1857. 

Whereas it has pleased God to re- 
move from time to eternity, Samuel L. 
Radisill, and to loose the cord which 
bound to earth one whose nobleness of 
soul and many sterling traits of char- 
acter, united with his early piety, had 
won for him the esteem of all his friends: 

Resolved, — That in his death we are 
reminded of the uncertainty of life, and 
that we, too, must prepare to meet that 
dread destroyer whose icy grasp none 
can escape. 

Resolved, — That we will keep ever 
fresh in our minds, a remembrance of 
his virtues, and strive to conform our 
lives to the principles by which he was 

Resolved, — That as the bright anti- 
cipations of his fond parents and relatives 
have been turned into bitter disappoint- 
ments, and the object of their affections 
now lies beneath the sod, we do sincere- 
ly deplore their irreparable loss, and 
would fain soothe their anguish by min- 
gling our tears with theirs. 

Resolved — That a copy of these res- 
olutions be sent to the family of the de- 
ceased ; and to the " Western Demo- 
crat," " Raleigh Standard," and Uni- 
versity Magazine with a request that 
they may be published. 

T. C. Belsher, 
John W. Graham, 
John M. Lawing. 


Cttf Itortfc Carolina Emtamtg ^tajgajitue 

Is published at the beginning of every month except January and 
July. (The present volume, however, commences with March and 
will contain a July No.) There are in each number, 48 pages, more 
or less, of reading matter, equal in interest to that of any similar pub- 
lication in the country. The present volume will contain, besides 
what is otherwise indicated, an able address on the " Life and times of 
Gov. Caswell ;" many facts, incidents and anecdotes connected with 
Major Craig's march through Eastern Carolina, and other historical 
narratives. Everything, in short, in this department of literature, 
interesting to North Carolinians, will be attended to. Terms, $2.00 
per annum, invariably in advance. Any person sending us five new 
subscribers, with $10.00, will receive a copy gratis. 




AUGUST 1857,APRIL1858. 




Address of Henry W. Miller, 84. 

A Dutch Wedding 76. 

A Fragment, 23, 50. 

A Letter, 85. 

A Flirtation and its consequences,... 257. 

Alfred, An historical poem, 265. 

A visit to Alexander Von Humboldt,106. 

Anecdotes, 289. 

An Epigram, 190. 

A poem with remarks thereupon,... 132. 

Arabia, .....203. 

A visit to the University, 227. 

A sketch of Dr.E. A. Andrews, 389. 

A story about a Miniature, 108. 

"Aurora Leigh," 118. 

Bright rain drops, 23, 

Chateau in Espayne, 190. 

Chapel Hill and its morals, 373. 

Col. Jas. Williams, 245. 

Come, singme a song, 23. 

Come, fill the bowl,. 375. 

Clubs, 395. 

College boys, 372. 

Complaint, .' 345. 

Country Life, 346. 

Correspondence, 1 15 . 

Conservatism of the South, 121. 

Cuthallin's oak, ." 62. 

Dabbs at College, -. 223. 

Despotism of Popular Opinion, 33. 

Dr. Mitchell among the Mountains 
of Yancey, .293. 

Early history of the Albermarle region,70. 

Editorial Table 32, 80, 126, 185, 233, 

287, 313.391. 

Ellegiac Verse, 49. 

Emulation, its good and evil effects,. ..236. 

Extracts from a Journal, 182. 

Frederick the Great, 171. 

Fourth Volume of Irving' s Washing- 
ton, ? .\...238.' 

Habits and idleness, 287. 

^Husband Hunting, 41. 

"Hume, and . Aborcrombie, 126. 

"I think of thee," 232. 

Judge Gaston,.....'. ..'....„. 37. 

Legend of the Musical Waters, 178. 

Letter of Mr. Calhoun, ..!?...,. 83. 

Life and Correspondence of Judge Ire- 

dell, 380. 

Lines on the death of a favorite Mocking 
Bird, 178. 

Literature in general and College litera- 
ture, 283. 

Lucy Harnett, 278. 

Mary, 227. 

Moss Side, 218. 

Mt. Vernon Association, 391. 

My Sleigh ride, 345. 

Nathaniel Macon and Bartlett Yancy, 89. 

Nights of Venice, 206, 274, 319. 

On receiving a present from a lady,... 25. 

Our Alma Mater, 237. 

Our Exchanges, 136, 192, 292. 

Our Magazine, 189. 

Reveries of a Senior, 132. 

Salutatory, 32. 

Sayings and doings at our Club,. 57. 

Senior Speaking, 393 . 

Serenading Song 291. 

Something about punning, 240. 

Spirit Rappings, 327. 

Squire Wilkinson's speech on the cri- 
sis, 28. 

The Caldwell Monument, 395. 

The Flower of Catawba, 24. 

The Memory of the dead,/ 387. 

The Origin of language, 370. 

The path of glory, 376. 

The Soph's Dream, 326. 

The Printing Press, 25. 

The Life and Times of Ric'd Caswell,... 1. 

The Rose of Mecklenburg, 50. 

The Unity of the Races, 349. 

The University, 291. 

Thomas a Becket, 330. 

To Rutha, 23, 24. 

Tributes of Respect, . . .39, 40, 87 88, 242. 

Vacation Scenes, 338. 

Wayland on Slavery, 928. 

Whiskey and love, 218. 

Who commanded at Moore's Creek 
Bridge? 137. 

Wm. Soranzo Ilasell, t 264. 

Young America, 80, 343. 

Young America in College, 124. 

fcibes at the ball,,..- ............154, 



luguirt, I85£ 







W. C. LORD, 

E. ?. BELL, 


AUGUST, 1857. 

NO. 1. 


A Lecture, delivered before the "Oak City Guards," in Raleigh, January 1857, 


The true strength and riches of a 
SLate lie in the manliness of its men. 
Ample munitions against foreign in- 
vasion have much to do with its per- 
petuity : an unity of interest among 
its citizens may ensure domestic pros- 
perity and peace : a fertile soil, and 
a genial climate, may encourage in- 
dustry, and develop all the arts that 
have their issues in material wealth, 
and those forms of grace that embel- 
lish and spiritualise the life of men ; 
but the noblest growth of nature is 
man, and the surest safe-guard of a 
State — the wisdom that guides it, — 
the strength that imparts compact- 
ness, energy, life to its institutions, 

is in its statesmen, sages, heroes — its 
"good men and true." The empty 
frame-work of a commonwealth is 
nothing. Forms of government, as 
such are worthless. It is the charac- 
ter of those who frame them, that im- 
parts, of those who administer them, 
that continues, of those who live un- 
der, sustain and enjoy them, that re- 
tains and returns, all that gives them 
value — all that makes them worth a 
choice. It may be truly said, that 
that frame of government is best, 
which trains men best ; which plac- 
es the least hindrance on the free 
activities of men, and presents and 
enforces the loftiest motives to soci- 


al and manly virtues. It may be 
no less truly said, also, that that 
• frame of government is best, which 
the best men have trained : which 
had its origin in the highest wisdom 
and the purest purposes, and which 
from age to age, the like wisdom 
and the like purity have controlled 
preserved and carried forward to un- 
anticipated heights of greatness and 
usefulness, and renown. And so, 
while every man has a twofold rela- 
tion, as one in whom all public and 
social influences already existing are 
operating to make him what he be- 
comes, and as one who transmits the 
same influences to others, his poster- 
ity, vitiated or enlivened by all his 
own peculiarities; those who stand' 
foremost in the series, in whom re- 
sides originant force, which unfolds 
and fashions the destinies of many 
generations, who had the sagacity to 
foresee great and magnificent results 
in the far future, skill to prepare for, 
and energy to achieve them; these 
play a more important part in the 
world' s history , for they not only give 
being to nations and constitutions, 
but determine also what shall be the 
form, and character, and worth of 
that being, till the progress of our hu- 
manity transmutes it into new shapes 
or the universal law of decay dis- 
solves it forever. They it is to whom, 
above all other men, the tribes of 
earth do reverence. They are the 
heroes of legendary story, whose sta- 
ture, as we dimly discern them 
through the mists of the past ages, 

swells to more than human great- 
ness, rising among men, and min- 
gling in the affairs of men, as super- 
natural beings, whose mission has 
been to convey celestial gifts to our 
race ; not gods, but demigods, whose 
human nature is of no less worth to 
us than their divine relations, and 
who crown and complete all other 
benefits by furnishing a model of the 
highest forms of human excellence, 
and a proof, in their own persons, 
that such excellence is still within 
the reach of our humanity, however 
degraded, and however fallen. A- 
mong all peoples that have gone 
through a course of high mental dis- 
cipline, perhaps in a measure among 
all peoples, this process has been 
perpetually renewed. Each of them, 
in manners varying as their own 
culture and elements of character 
varied, has raised to an elevation 
above the ordinary lot of men, those 
whom it looked back to as the 
founders of its own separate exist- 
ence. Theseus, and Hercules, and 
Romulus, Prince and Arthur, are ob- 
vious examples. 

A tendency so universal must 
have its roots deep in our common 
nature, and we may not think to 
find our OAvn case an exception. 
We too are well disposed to magnify 
-the past, and find in the brave ad- 
venturers who first planted colonies 
on these western shores, and in 
those men — perchance of more he- 
roic mould, — who planned and ac- 
complished our independence, exam- 


pies of lofty aims and chivalrous 
resolves, and pureness of intention, 
the wit to know, and the daring to 
do what the heart conceived, that 
transcend and put to shame all the 
degenerate manhood of our days. 
We should prove ourselves degene- 
rate sons indeed, did we not thus 
think highly of our sires. Yet we 
are in no condition, as the Eomans 
and the Greeks have been, and al- 
most the Briton, to lift our fathers 
above the rank of ordinary men. 
Their knowledge of those from whom 
in the far on ages they had inherited 
the gifts and blessings that make 
life desirable, was a tradition only. 
Men, who have no written record, 
forget much, and are apt to blend 
divers and distant acts in one confus^ 
ed exaggeration. How many dis- 
tinct deeds of heroism and service to 
our race have been combined in the 
one form of the Grecian Hercules ! — 
And the Eoman historians wrote un- 
der the same impulse, from which le- 
gends are never free, when they as- 
cribed all the military institutions of 
the eternal city to one of its half-fa- 
bulous kings, and all its ecclesiastical 
order to a second, and all its early 
political organisation to another. But 
we, under the restraints of the writ- 
ten record, exaggerate — as our im- 
agination perhaps always does-must 
take another, and more sober, and it 
may be a more serviceable view, of 
the actions and characters of our 
forefathers. We must judge them 
simply as men, "of like passions with 

ourselves/'' swayed by the same mo- 
tives both good and bad, loving, ha- 
ting, fearing, hoping, yielding to e- 
vil, striving against evil, just as we 
do, the same strange medley which 
we recognize in ourselves. It is in- 
deed the only way in which history 
should be read — in this same temper 
of genial appreciation and hunian 
sympathy. As we turn over its pa- 
ges we find that some have been ex- 
alted as angels, some have been stig- 
matised as monsters ; the name of 
Nero has become a synonyme for 
bestial cruelty, ard that of Alfred 
jfor all nobleness and generosity. — 
Untruly in either case. Not one of 
the portraits on the canvass is an an- 
gel — not one a monster. All are sim- 
ply men : sharers in human weak- 
ness — in human strength. The foul- 
est oppressor has redeeming traits of 
kindness and affection • (the popu- 
lace laid wreaths of flowers upon the 
grave of Nero ;) and the most disin- 
terested patriotism is always alloyed 
with selfishness, or stained, how- 
ever slightly, by pride and ambition. 
In our estimate of the men who have 
won a place in the grateful memory 
of their fellows, we are never to for- 
get this : and if we transport our- 
selves to the positions thoy occupied 
and judge what we should have felt, 
what we should have done, in their 
places and under the influences which 
pressed on them ; our conception of 
their merits may lose somewhat in 
warmth of coloring, we may assign 
them a rank lower than the partial- 


ity of their friends has awarded them 
but the decision we thus come to 
will be certainly kind and charitable, 
and most likely essentially just and 
true. In this spirit are we to inter- 
pret the written record, and in this 
spirit are we to interpret the man 

I am to speak to you to-night ot 
Richard Caswell, one of the fath- 
ers, and the first Governor of 
this commonwealth : prominent in 
many capacities in her early his- 
tory : fighting her battles, with the 
courage of a soldier, and the cautious 
skill of a chieftain : lending all the 
energies of his wisdom, and the rich 
results of his experience to the fra- 
ming of her constitution of govern- 
ment ; devoting his maturest years 
to the noble task of guiding the ship 
of State through the perils of an un- 
tried ocean : in her hours of darkness 
and dismay, " bating no jot of heart 
or hope ; and when success and pros- 
perity were her portion, bearing high 
aloft her banner, and proud of her 
glory ; in all capacities and relations, 
doing his duty as a loving son should 
do, and in strenuous labor, and endu- 
ring patience, and earnest fidelity in 
her cause, second to no one in his 
own time, and second to none in the 
thankful admiration of his country- 

One so faithful in the discharge of 
public duties could hardly come short 
of like excellencies in his private re- 
lations ; and so we find him an able 
lawyer, a skillful man of business, — 

kind hearted and courteous in his in- 
tercourse with men, a warm friend, 
an accomplished gentleman. 

The agitations and disquiet of the 
times in which his lot was cast gave 
to all the elements of his character a 
rough training, and thereby a full de- 
velopment ; and their periods of 
calmness and repose, while they ex- 
hibited his sterner nature in clear 
contrast, brought out those gentler 
graces which adorn while they re- 
lieve it. 

Judging him as a man too, we find 
him not without infirmaties. His 
bravery may have been sometimes 
rashness ; the forwardness of an im- 
petuous temper may have led him 
into mistakes in judgement ; he may 
have fallen into the error — the error 
only of noble minds— of seeking a 
preeminance in all departments of 
human effort and honor ; and though 
his love of country was sincere and 
ardent, it may well have been min- 
gled with some natural measures of 
personal ambition. 

Richard Caswell was a native of 
Maryland, where he was born on the 
3d of August 1729. Of the circum- 
stances and events of his early life, 
which have commonly so marked an 
influence on a man's later career, we 
have almost no information. "We 
can only conjecture that his parent- 
age was honorable, and his boyhood 
one of comparative ease and respec- 
tability, from the reception he meV 
with at the hands of Gabriel John^ 
ston, then the Royal Governor of 2jj ■'. 


C., when the pecuniary misfortunes 
of his father induced him at the age 
of seventeen to relieve his boyish 
home of the burthen of his mainten- 
ance, and seek his fortune in this 
Province. So^ far as we know he* 
brought with him to his new abode 
nothing more than letters of intro- 
duction to that wise patron, of youth- 
ful talent,, and the high purposes and 
cheerful hopes of his own stout heart. 
Of the course of his life, his pursuits, 
studies, ambitions, habits, for the 
next five and twenty years we have 
but few items of information : yet 
they are enough to enable one who 
knows the condition of our people in 
those times, and the general course 
of human life at all times, to form a 
conception minute and precise and 
accurate enough of his actual career. 
The facts which our historians have 
preserved, or still existing records 
testify to, are that he made his resi- 
dence in what was then called John- 
ston (now Lenoir) county ; that he 
was early appointed a Deputy Sur- 
veyor of the Colony ; then Clerk of 
Orange County Court : for a while, 
also, we believe, Sheriff of Johnston : 
that he studied law, was admitted to 
the bar, and practiced with much suc- 
cess : that he represented Johnston 
County in the Colonial Legislature 
from 1754 till 1771, continuously, a 
term of 17 years : that in this inter- 
val he was twice married. 

It needs no effort of the imagina- 
tion to picture to ourselves the youth- 
ful stranger j timid because a stran- 

ger, and hopeful, as a youth should 
be, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, 
and pitching his tent amid scenes 
where a home was yet to be earned; 
girding himself for life ? s battle, with 
patience and energy and forecasting 
prudence ; taking every step with 
deliberate caution, and yet with res- 
olute purpose that each should be a 
step onward and' upward and none' 
backward ; carefully estimating the 
success of to-day, and diligently pre- 
paring for a larger prosperity to- 
morrow ; and winning friends by de- 
serving them, and using, their kind 
offices for further advancement. 

His whole course during these 
years may well find, its counterpart 
in the career of any one in similar 
circumstances among us — is distinct- 
ly imaged, it may be, in the history 
of some who hear me. Thus far there 
is in it nothing extraordinary, noth- 
ing that might not as well occur any 
day, to-day, even, and ini the midst 
of us. In whatever degree we may 
suppose that our adventurer was set 
forward by the friendly aid of Gov. 
Johnston, it is evident from the a- 
bove recital that he was forced to re- 
ly mainly on his own efforts, and that 
every stage in his progress was risen 
to from a lower place to which his 
prudent activity had already raised 
him. "Confidence" — then, as now, 
" is a plant of slow growth." Our 
Fathers were used to trust those on- 
ly whom they had tried : and their 
probation was long, and the scrutiny 
a severe one. To have acquitted one^ 


self well and manfully in an inferior 
post was the condition, rigidly insis- 
ted on, of promotion to the one above 
it. The ambitious Eoman could not 
wear the insignia of the consulship, if 
he had not trod in succession every 
round in the ladder of political pre- 
ferment. So, in those times, the sim- 
ple attorney must first serve as Court 
Clerk, and in that early office com- 
mend himself to the good will of his 
fellow citizens, and rise through a 
common membership of their Assem- 
bly, with all its tests of ability and 
service, if he would reach the highest 
honors, which a mature ambition 
might covet. And it is no less cred- 
itable to the modest energies of his 
purposes that Mr. Caswell submit- 
ted to this ordeal, and to the superi- 
ority of his abilities that he went tri- 
umphantly through it, coming up to 
the full demands, however various, 
of every function ; than it is to the 
wise habit of those who imposed the 
trial, or the clear discrimination with 
which they marked, and the cordial 
confidence with which they reward- 
ed his success. 

The talents of Mr. Caswell, as his 
afterlife proved, were singularly fitted 
for usefulness and display in the halls 
of Legislation : yet for not less than 
fifteen years was he a member of the 
Colonial Assembly, where his capac- 
ities must have been developed slow- 
ly indeed, had he not already attain- 
ed distin ction-before he was elevated 
to the Speaker's Chair. Meanwhile, 
in the more private exercise of his 

profession, he was building firmer 
and higher every year, a reputation, 
which became the passport alike to 
office and to independence. "While 
too, the number of his clients increas- 
ed, and while his hopes of a compe- 
tence or of wealth were beginning to 
be realized, he was also learning les- 
sons in the theory and practice of the 
Constitution, making himself famil- 
liar with the principles of govern- 
ment, the essential elements of social 
order and organization, and taking 
those measures of the fundamental 
rights of man, and conditions of his 
political well being, which proved of 
so much service to himself and to his 
country in the coming days of revo- 
lution and re-organization. No mat- 
ter where else the impulses to that 
revolution came from, no matter 
what class of men felt oppression 
most deeply, or was ready to dare all 
— do all, suffer all, for liberty and 
right, sure it is that the revolution, 
and most of all the re-construction of 
Society which followed, was, here and 
everywhere, the work of Lawyers. 
If others felt equally the Wrong, it 
was they who boldly denounced the 
wrong : and if others equally longed 
for equality and freedom, it was they 
who gave to the vague notion of equal- 
ity its true proportions, and attached 
to Freedom its genuine and needful 
restraints. Surely the long and la- 
borious training which Mr. Caswell 
underwent at the bar, in the discuss- 
ion of all forms of law and Equity, 
as well as in the political contests in 


the Assembly for those seventeen 
years, were a fit schooling for that 
position of eminent superiority in 
which after events placed him. 

While this schooling was going on 
and the elements as yet but slightly 
disquieted, whose future agitation 
was to bring forth such grand results, 
there were gentler influences also at 
work upon him, less rare in human 
experience, yet of hardly less power 
in moulding the character of the man. 
It is no slight achievement to earn, 
by long service, the confidence of 
men, searching and discriminating 
men as our Fathers were, but it may 
prove a better nature, and framed for 
"finer issues," to have won the heart 
of one of those noble maidens whom 
our Fathers loved. Surely, at least, 
the domestic quality in their experi- 
ence, made much of the greatness 01 
the great men of those days : the 
homesteads, around which their af- 
fections gathered, nerved them to 
resist oppression ; and no thought of 
abstract right so made them eloquent 
in council, or brave on the battle-field, 
as the thought of the maidens whom 
they loved or the wives whom they 
had won. Doubtless, with no such 
speculations, but simply swayed by 
the same power that sooner or later 
sways all men, our hero was married 
early in his career to Mary Macel- 
wean, and afterwards to Sarah Her- 
itage : both, we believe, natives ot 
the Province, and both, we can not 
doubt, well worthy of such a mate. 
By the first marriage he had one son, 

William, who acquired some celeb- 
rity as a Brig. General in the Bevo- 
lutionary War : and by the second 
four sons and two daughters. 

Among the ways in which Mr. 
Caswell sought to acquire distinc- 
tion and render himself useful, was 
that of engaging, so far as an en- 
grossing preference of civil and po- 
litical pursuits allowed, in the pro- 
fession of arms. Military service was 
then more than now, a natural occu- 
pation for brave and high-spirited 
men, and might illustrate at once the 
gallantry of their temper, their read- 
iness to be serviceable to their fellow 
citizens, and their loyalty to the 
Crown. In this capacity in which 
he was soon to acquire high eminence 
he made his first appearance in the 
field of battle, in the engagement 
with the Eegulators near the Ala- 
mance, May 16th 1771, where he 
commanded in the right wing of Gen. 
Tryon's forces, as Colonel of the Mi- 
litia from Dobbs county. 

It is no part of my present purpose 
to discuss that event, or any of its 
causes or circumstances. With the 
main facts connected with it, all per- 
sons who know our history are fa- 
miliar. But I may remark that, — 
while there is little room for dispute 
touching the particular events which 
accompanied that contest, on which 
the discovery of Tryon's Letter Book 
even does not throw much new light, 
there seems to me to be much occa- 
sion to revise the judgments which 
have been commonly expressed of 



the characters and motives of the chief 
actors in it. While I am disposed to 
give all credit to the body of the Eeg- 
ulators for pure and honest inten- 
tions, while I know that they were 
badly oppressed by officials, whom 
the laws didn't hold to a strict accoun- 
tability, and that there was hardly 
money enough in the Province to pay 
the legal taxes with, and that they 
sought by arms a redress which they 
supposed they could gain in no other 
way ; I am also well assured that 
they were misguided by cunning and 
selfish leaders, of whom the chief was 
as unworthy a demagogue, as he was 
.an arrant and unqustionable coward. 
On the other hand it is unfortunate 
for the good name of Tryon, that the 
history of his administration was 
written by men who looked upon it 
from the standing point of Eevolu- 
tioanry principles, and it is no dis- 
credit to them to add, Eevolutionary 
prejudices. The records which he 
has left do certainly throw some 
light, and new light, upon the mo- 
tives which actuated him, and his 
views of official policy and duty. A 
careful examination of all the docu- 
ments now within the reach of any 
one among us, has led me clearly and 
without doubt to the conclusion that 
few public characters in our annals 
have been so much misunderstood 
and maligned as his. He seems to 
me to have been actuated through 
all the measures of his government 
by a simple desire to promote the 
be8t interests at once of the Crown 

and of the people : to have checked 
and hindered, so far as the laws gave 
him the power, all irregular exac- 
tions : to have done his best to soothe 
and palliate the evils that he could 
not cure : to have borne with the 
lawless doings of men whom he knew 
to be in error, until a longer forbear- 
ance would have deprived him of the 
reins of government, and have prov- 
ed him faithless to his Sovereign, till 
the people were beginning to lose the 
distinction between redress and rev- 
olution, and till his office and his al- 
legience constrained him to suppress 
when kindness and warnings and ex- 
postulation and menace had been 
faithfully tried, and tried in vain. — 
As a man he was cool, cautious, pru- 
dent, sagacious and good tempered : 
as a soldier, skillful, intrepid and 
firm : and as a Governor, patient, — 
kind, conciliating and resolute. His 
duty was to reconcile two interests 
which were opposed and which seem- 
ed irreconcileable : and he drew the 
Sword at last, not to subdue and op- 
press the people, but to vindicate the 
dignity and maintain the supremacy 
of the Crown. In estimating, as a 
matter of morals, the merits of this 
controversy, it ought not to be for- 
gotten, that the wisest and best of 
those men who were foremost, a few 
years later in their Country's cause, 
during the struggle for our Indepen- 
dence, were on his side, heart and 
hand, in the Council and on the field 
of battle : that nowhere is there the 
slightest ground for a surmise, that 



they were overawed into an acqui- 
escence with his measures, or fought 
by his side with a doubtful or hesi- 
tating purpose ; and that they who 
see only inhumanity and oppression 
in Tryon, must find guilty, as accom- 
plices, men as brave and high-minded 
as John Ashe, and Hugh Waddel, 
and Bichard Caswell. 

At the time when Col. Caswell, 
in company of such honored associ- 
ates, was signalising the earnestness 
of his loyalty by taking up arms a- 
gainsthis fellow countrymen, he was 
no less clearly, in his place as a Leg- 
islator, and as the speaker of the As- 
sembly, bearing testimony to the 
same. The acts of the Lower House, 
show a general and hearty concur- 
rence of the members of that body, 
with the views and feelings of their 
Governor. They specially authoriz- 
ed him to employ the military force 
of the Province in putting down in- 
surrection, and enforcing obedience 
to the law : they denoun ced as trai- 
tors, all who should offer an armed 
resistance : and only a few months 
later, many of them went out freely 
at his summons, and showed them- 
selves ready to maintain in the field 
the cause they had supported in the 
council, and to seal their devotion to 
the authority of the King, if need 
were, with their blood. 

Sincere as they doubtless were in 
these convictions, and honest in this 
conduct, they, the same men, were 
not less sincere and honest in their 
advocacy, a few years after, of the 

interests and independence of their, 
country. Gradual though the change 
was, and leading them on by steps they 
did not anticipate to a result they no 
more anticipated, we must grant 
that it was also sudden. In little 
more than two years from the battle 
at the Alamance, the first public 
measure was adopted in North Car- 
olina of that series of measures which 
issued in the rebellion of the colonies 
and the freedom of these "United 
States. In the adoption of this meas- 
ure, one of the foremost advocates, 
and in carrying it out one of the most 
strenuous actors, was Mr. Caswell. 
The earliest organization which look- 
ed towards a resistance to the Brit- 
ish Government, took naturally the 
form of Committees of Correspon- 
dence in the several Colonies ; and 
the first Committee of the kind in 
N. C. was appointed by the Assem- 
bly in the Winter of 1773-'4, and 
consisted of John Harvey, Eobert 
Howe, Cornelius Harnett, William 
Hooper,B'd. Caswell, Edward Vail, 
John Ashe, Joseph Hewes and Sam- 
uel Johnston. Of these associates, 
John Harvey of Perquimans, pass- 
ed away from life in the following 
year, and was allowed to see noth- 
ing of those grand results which he 
did more, perhaps, than any other 
of his compatriots to inaugurate ;— 
Howe of Brunswick and Ashe of 
New Hanover became conspicuous 
actors in the military movements of 
the Eevolution, though the star of 
the former was early dimmed by pey.- 



sonal indiscretions, and that of the 
latter sunk beneath life's horizon 
nearly two years before the struggle 
terminated in independence. Har- 
nett of Wilmington, was an earnest, 
dextrous and passionate politician — 
'• the Samuel Adams of the South," 
—whose sagacious energy at the 
council-board was worth more to the 
cause than many a brilliant charge 
or skillful manoveur — and he, too, 
was not allowed to see — save as Mo- 
ses saw the Promised Land, — the 
issue of the great controversy he so 
stoutly sustained : Vail of Eden- 
ton, rose to the rank of Brigadier 
General ; Hewes of Edenton also, in 
all the periods of the struggle rep- 
resented the mercantile interests, 
and with [most profound mercantile 
shewdness and integrity : Johnston 
of Chowan, the wise and safe advis- 
er, the calm, intrepid, resolute man, 
was afterwards Governor of the state 
he had aided to create ; and Hooper, 
tho youngest, it may be, of them all, 
was yet second to no one of them in 
the ardor of his patriotism or in the 
graceful accomplishments of the 

"Whatever other services may have 
been rendered by these Committees 
of Correspondence, whose duration 
was short and their functions very 
limited, this surely was not the least, 
that they formed in each Colony a 
standing witness to every other Col- 
ony, that the love of country was 
burning brightly there, and that 
men were there banded together and 

ready for all needful action, who 
clearly saw their country's rights 
and felt her oppressions, and were 
resolved to vindicate those rights and 
resist those oppressions. The value 
of such witness — beacon fires on the 
highest mountain top in every colony 
— in encouraging the timid, and in 
strengthening the resolved, and giv- 
ing to the separate purpose of each, 
the force of the combined power of 
all, will be undervalued by no one, 
who is aware how faint, and uncer- 
tain, and hazardous, are always the 
beginnings of resistance, however 
just, to long established authority 
The very name of a Committee oi 
Correspondence, shows that they 
who appointed them had as yet no 
purpose beyond that of watchfulness: 
and mutual counsel : yet their ap 
pointment, nearly at the same time 
throughout the country, and the 
names of those chosen to this place 
in North Carolina, allows no suspi 
cion of a lack on their part of ear 
nest sympathy with the movement 
There can be no such suspicion h 
any case. In Mr. Caswell's case 
the further fact that he had been pr< 
posed by Gov. Martin to be an A 
sociate Justice with Chief Justic 
Howard, of the Supreme Court o 
the Province proves at once, that th 
Eoyal Government thought hir 
worth securing to its side by 
high reward, and that temptation 
like to prevail strongly with such 
temper as his, the promise of rani 
emolument, the lofty places in hi 



profession, could not seduce him from 
his allegiance to his country. 

The change thus begun, and by 
slow processes increased, till the men 
who had been steadfast in their loy- 
alty, intelligent and well principled 
in their attachment to the British 
Crown and Constitution, had become 
resolute and self-denying patriots, 
defying oppression, organizing re- 
sistance, and finally longing tor in- 
dependence, presents to the thought- 
ful man a curious problem for spec- 
ulation. We can not fail to believe 
that these men were just as honest 
in the one conviction as in the other 
— as conscientious when they were 
Whigs as when they were Tories — 
as pure-minded and high-minded 
when they upheld the Eoyal cause at 
Alamance, as when they smote it 

. down at Moore's Creek, or vainly 
sought to destroy it at Camden. — 
There is no reason in the general 
laws of history, or in the peculiar 
acts of their sever.! cases, to charge 
any of them with having been con- 
trolled by sinister influences. Let 
me suggest, as what may furnish a 
clue to this apparently intricate 
secret, what may at once explain 
and justify their course, that the re- 
sistance of our fathers to the British 
Government did not spring from any 
abstract theory of human rights, — 
which they might have imagined 

, that Parliament had disregarded, but 
from their notion of their rights as 
Englishmen,— -notions they had al- 
ways been familiar with, of rights 

they had always felt to be their own 
— that the question in the English 
Parliament was whether the subjects 
of the Crown in America should be 
treated as Englishmen or as its col- 
onists, and the question in America 
was whether they would be treated 
as colonists or Englishmen. "Natu- 
ral and inalienable rights" were al- 
together an afterthought, reserved 
for a rhetorical reason, and for Mr. 
Jefferson : but because their rights 
as Englishmen were encroached on 
they remonstrated and resisted : — 
and because their rights were denied 
them they rebelled. It was not in- 
dependence which they aimed at, at 
the outset, but an equality with their 
fellow subjects at home; and because 
they could not attain that equality 
without independence — they clutch- 
ed at Independence. The initial step 
at independence was taken, not in 
America, but within the walls of St. 
Stephen's. Its engines were, not 
Committees of Correspondence and 
Congress, but Stamp Acts and taxa- 
tion of a people unrepresented. The 
movement on our side was, at first, 
only negative, a refusal, a resistance; 
and it was not till we were enforced 
by arms, that we resisted, or thought 
of resisting, by arms. 

From the time when he was plac- 
ed on the Provincial Committee of 
Correspondence we find no trace of 
wavering in Col. Caswell, or hesi- 
tation in his efforts. Only a few 
months later we find him a member 
of the first Provincial Convention of 



North Carolina, and selected by that 
Body to represent the interests and 
speak the sentiments of this Colony, 
in the first general Congress of all 
the Colonies on this continent. As 
the doings of this Provincial Conven- 
tion very signally illustrate the tem- 
per of the times, we may be allowc d 
to dwell upon them for a moment. 

The main purpose for which the 
Convention was called together, be- 
side the expression of the sentiments 
of the people on the political ques- 
tions then agitating the country, — 
was to select delegates to a General 
Congress of the Colonies : and the 
immediate and pressing reason for 
summoning the General Congress 
was the Boston Port Bill, and kin- 
dred oppressive measures of the Su- 
preme Courts of Law and Equity for 
the Province, and the provision, — 
claimed by the House and rejected 
by the Governor— for the attachment 
of the property of absent and abscon- 
ding debtors. The consequence of 
this controversy on the first point 
was, that for a long time there was 
no such Court in operation in the 
Province ; and on the second, that 
the alleged rights of the citizens were 
defeated, and all the interests of 
trade languished, or came to a stand 
still. The further, natural result, — 
obviously was, to unite the mercan- 
tile part of the community, and the 
the body of the legal profession, in 
one array of opposition to the gov- 
ernment of the country ; and to bring 
the people, already chafed and sore 

with the sense of private irritfltions, 
to the consideration of public griev- 
ances, and wrongs which pressed 
more heavily upon others. In this 
state of the public mind was promul- 
gated the Boston Port Bill, contain- 
ing a harsh and most exasperating 
measure, and Massachusetts propos- 
ed a meeting of Deputies from all the 
Colonies, to consider the alarming 
state of public affairs. It is not to 
be wondered at, that this suggestion 
met an eager response in North Car- 
olina. Such Conventions and Con- 
gresses were bodies certainly un- 
known to the then existing Consti- 
tution of the country : to those who 
were disposed to uphold the order of 
things established by law, and which 
custom had confirmed them in, they 
must have had a look of doubtful 
propriety : the timid might well be 
excused for hesitating to lend them 
their countenance ; and though they 
might indeed be justified, as peace- 
ful meetings for counsel, and petition 
and remonstrance only, all must 
have felt that none could tell to what 
grave issues innovations like these 
might grow : yet there was, thro 'out 
the Province, a cheerful, hearty alac- 
rity in response to the summons from 
Massachusetts, whieh must have sur- 
prised and cheered the friends of A- 
merican freedom, no less than it al- 
armed — and it did most seriously a- 
larm — the friends of Royal preroga- 
tive — the Governor and Council. 

In spite of the proclamation of Gov. 
Martin, denouncing and forbidding 



all such meetings and elections, as 
"derogatory to the dignity of his 
Majesty and his Parliament, and 
tending to excite clamor and discon- 
tent among the Kings subjects in 
this Province," meetings were held 
in all the principal towns and coun- 
ties of the Province, and delegates 
chosen — tried and faithful men — to 
enter on the untried experiment of a 
Convention, at ISTewbern on the 25th 
of August 1774. 

On the day appointed the Conven- 
tion met — seventy-one stout-hearted 
men — to initiate a movement, which 
they doubtless designed to serve a 
temporary purpose, and cease forev- 
er : but which, over-ruled by an in- 
scrutable Providence to ends far 
beyond their meaning, has proved 
only the first in a series of great e- 
vents, whose final uses in the vast 
economy of our earthly being are 
even now but most imperfectly un- 
folded, and which still arise before 
us, as we strain our eyes toward the 
future, in dimly lengthning process- 
ion, swelling in magnificent propor- 
tions, and yet shrouding themselves 
in darkness and distance, which no 
human vision may think to pene- 
trate. We may well pause at this 
Bpot of human history with reverent 
awe, as we might stand at the tiny 
source of some great river, whose 
fountain a thirsty man might almost 
exhaust, and which yet, undisturbed, 
shall traverse half a continent, and 
lose itself in the infinite ocean, so 
insignificent is the act and the peri- 

od itself, and so stately and stupen- 
dous are its Out-flowings. We look 
with pleased wonder on the cottage 
where a great man drew his first 
breath, on the founder of a noble fa- 
mily or a dynasty, but here we listen 
to the first pulse of life in the heart 
of a mighty State. 

It is singular how unlike an as- 
pect any events, the doings of al- 
most any day, may have to hirri 
who is engaged in them, and to him 
who looks back upon them after ma- 
ny years, and interprets them by 
their results. To those who are en- 
gaged in the action all days are per- 
haps alike, he sees on one as on an- 
other, only neighbors and friends in 
council or co-operation. To us one 
day stands out from all the rest in 
marked singularity, because a train 
of events, social or political, took on 
that day, a new point of departure. 
To us August 25th 1774 is a great 
and hallowed day; to them who were 
busied in its activities, it may have 
seemed in no way strange or peculi- 
ar. It was with them only the day 
on which they had agreed to assem- 
ble to consult together how best to 
avert then threatning evils. Old 
friends met with the customary gree- 
tings, the open-hearted readily made 
new acquaintances, the rude and the 
polished, broadcloth and homespun, 
met as heretofore, the interchange 
of news went on, jests were uttered 
and repeated, and the merry laugh 
followed ; and there was no outward 
symptom, hardly in the innermost 



heart of any was the thought, that 
with the acts of this assembly were 
closely linked the destinies of a great 

Of this body John Harvey was 
the Chairman : a man, whose name 
is not often mentioned in the list of 
the worthies of the Eevolution, ex- 
cept by those who are familiar with 
its history, and yet he was, up to the 
day of his untimely death, the most 
active, the most influential, the most 
resolute, of all who aided to give an 
impulse to the early movements of 
the Eevolution. Associated with 
him were many, who came not far 
behind him in such qualities as those, 
and some, whose later fame has over- 
shadowed him. From Anson came 
Samuel Spencer, active always thro' 
the strife, and one of the three who 
first sat on the Bench of the Supreme 
Court of the State, which he had 
helped to set free and organise : a fit 
reward for eminent service. From 
Brunswick was Bobert Howe, from 
Chowan, Sam. Johnson ; from Dobbs 
Eichard Caswell ; from New Han*, 
over, John Ashe and Wm. Hooper ; 
from Edenton Jos. Hewes. To those 
who have been already mentioned, 
must be added many, not less wor- 
thy, though some of them were less 
conspicuous in later days. There 
was from Newbern Abner Nash, — 
soon to be raised to the highest off- 
ce in the State ; and from Craven 
such men of well known patriotism 
and virtue as James Coor an.d Eich- 
ard Cogdell ; Thomas Person, al- 

ways a democrat, and a cordial ha- 
ter of oppression represented Gran- 
ville : and the share of Halifax was 
well sustained by Willie Jones, for 
many years the most astute and a- 
ble politician that N. C. could boast 
of : his brothers Allan — afterwards 
Brigidier General Jones of North- 
ampton, and Thomas, a very shrewd 
lawyer of Chowan, and Joseph, a 
successful Planter from Pasquotank, 
all brought their several talents to 
the cause of their country, and show- 
ed how truly and in unison those 
Welsh hearts beat in that cause. — 
Orange sent Thomas Hart whose 
name yet survives in two-fold honor 
in the blood of Clay and of Benton : 
and as it were that one faithless 
might be tound among the faithful, 
Cumberland sent the as yet unsus- 
pected Farquard Campbell. The 
great business of their assembling 
was accomplished by the appoint- 
ment of Wm. Hooper, Joseph Hewes, 
and Eichard Caswell, to attend a 
general Congress to be held the fol- 
lowing month in the city of Philadel- 
phia. These Deputies were formal- 
ly so empowered as to " make any 
act done by them, or consent given 
in behalf of this Province, obligatory 
in honor upon every inhabitant 
thereof, who is not an alien to his 
country's good, and an apostate to 
the liberties of America/' 

The Eesolutions adopted by the 
Convention, which must be taken to 
be a full reflection of the popular 
sentiment of the time, while they in- 



dicate a firm purpose of obtaining re- 
dress for the evils which they com- 
plained of, indicate also how far the 
people, and even their extremest 
leaders, were, as yet, from any tho't 
of separating from the mother coun- 
try. The most of the Eesolutions 
are condensed in the Instructions, 
which were prepared for the guid- 
ance of their Deputies, which instruc- 
tions were as follows : — 

" That they express our most sin- 
cere attachment to our most gracious 
Sovereign George the Third, and 
our determined resolution to support 
his lawful authority in the Province, 
at the same time that we* cannot de- 
part from a steady adherence to the 
first law of nature • a firm and reso- 
lute defence of our persons and pro- 
perties against all unconstitutional 
encroachments whatsoever. That 
they assert our right to all the priv- 
ileges of British subj ects, particularly 
that of paying no taxes or duties but 
with our own consent : and that the 
Legislature of this Province have the 
exclusive power of making laws to 
regulate our internal policy, subject 
to his Majesty's disallowance. That 
should the British Parliament con- 
tinue to exercise the power of levy- 
ing taxes and duties on the Colonies 
and making laws to bind them in all 
cases whatsoever ; such laws must 
be highly unconstitutional and op- 
pressive to the inhabitants of British 
America, who have not, and from 
their local circumstances can not 
have, a fair and legal representation 

in the British Parliament ; and that 
these disadvantages must be greatly 
enhanced by the misrepresentations 
of designing men, or as has been un- 
happily experienced in the case of 
the town of Boston, where the ears 
of administration have been shut a- 
gainst every attempt to vindicate a 
people who claimed only the right of 
being heard in their own defence.-— 
That therefore until we obtain an 
explicit declaration and acknowledg- 
ment of our rights, we agree to stop 
all imports from Great Britain after 
the 1st day of January 1775 ; and 
that we will not export any of our 
commodities to Great Britain after 
the first day of October 1775. 

"That they concur with the Depu- 
ties or Delegates from the other Co- 
lonies, in such Eegulations, addresses, 
or remonstrances, as may be deemed 
most probable to restore a lasting 
harmony and good understanding 
with Great Britain, a circumstance 
we most sincerely and ardently de- 
sire : and that they agree with the 
majority of them in all necessary 
measures for promoting a redress of 
such grievances as may come under 
their consideration." 

Bodies of men, when unswayed by 
passion or prejudice are perhaps bet- 
ter suited than individuals to select 
wisely the proper agents to carry 
out special political purposes. In 
this case, certainly, the choice could 
hardly have fallen upon three per- 
sons more eminently quallified to ex- 
ecute the peculiar trust that was now 



confided to Hooper, Hewes, and 
Caswell. And on the other hand, 
the choice of them by the nascent 
community, soon to become a State, 
was the highest commendation of 
their wisdom, talent, integrity and 
patriotism that could have been con- 
ferred upon them. 

The Congress to which they had 
been chosen assembled at Philadel- 
phia on the 5th of September, and 
continued in session till October 26th. 
Of its acts we have time only to say 
that they did little more than declare 
as the general sense of all the Colo- 
nies, the sentiments, and approve, as 
theirs, the measures, which had been 
previously declared and approved in 
the Provincial Convention of North 
Carolina. Mr. Caswell did not take 
his seat till September 17th, when 
the chief Committees of the House 
had been already constituted. As no 
record of the debates has been pre- 
served, and the names were not at- 
tached to the several propositions 
that were made, it is not possible to 
assign to any member the precise 
share of influence he exercised, or 
the consideration he enjoyed in that 

There is, however, no such reti- 
cence in the records of the next Pro- 
vincial Congress of North Carolina, 
which was held at Newbern on the 
3d of April 1775, and on the pages 
of its Register no name appears more 
frequently, or in places of more hon- 
orable usefulness, than that of Rich- 
ard Caswell. It is a singular fact 

and singularly illustrative of the al- 
most general prevalence, at that 
time, of what were called Whig prin- 
ciples, that the Provincial Congress, 
which assembled at the summons of 
John Harvey on the 3d of April, and 
the House of Assembly, which met 
on the 4th of April, on the summons 
of Gov. Martin, were composed, al- 
most to a man, of the same persons. 
They were returned by the same e- 
lectors. They chose each the same 
John Harvey for their Speaker, and 
at least the Assembly was sometimes 
found doing the appropriate work of 
the Convention. The House shewed 
its sense of. the value of Mr. Cas- 
well's service, by placing him on its 
Committees of Privileges and Elec- 
tions, and of Propositions and Griev- 
ances : and after a session of only 
four days, such tokens had it exhibi- 
ted of an uncomplying temper, was 
dissolved by Gov Martin. The Con- 
vention lived but one day longer.— 
The proceedings of the Continental 
Congress were laid before it by Mr. 
Caswell, and concurred with, and 
formally adopted, where such sanc- 
tion could give them force. The De- 
legates to that Congress received the 
thanks of the Convention for their 
faithful service, and were appointed 
again, with like powers as before. — 
After providing means to defray the 
expenses of the Delegates, and pass- 
ing a few general resolutions, suited 
to the times, the Convention adjour- 
ned to meet at Hillsborough. 
Mr. Caswell, with the other Dele- 



gates, sat in theContinental Congress 
which met at Philadelphia May 10th 
1775, and in a recess which it took 
from August 1st to September 5th, 
he represented Dobbs county in the 
Provincial Congress at Hillsborough, 
August 20th. In this body where 
aptness for business and prudent 
counsel was more in demand than 
skill in debate and brilliant eloquence 
he was one of the most active and 
so one of the most influential mem- 
bers. Since the meeting of the Pro- 
vincial Congress in April, the State 
of public affairs within the precinct 
of North Carolina, as well as abroad, 
had undergone great change, and 
brought upon the members present 
in August new duties and very en- 
larged responsibilities. The Eoyal 
Governor, Martin, had abandoned 
his palace, and fled for security to an 
armed vessel in the Cape Fear Eiver, 
and this proceeding was construed 
into a virtual abdication of his gov- 
ernment. The Eoyal administration 
having ceased, there being now no 
power within the Province to enforce 
its mandate, and all the regular func- 
tions of the State being thus in sus- 
pense, it seemed to devolve on the 
Provincial Congress the duty of pro- 
viding some form of government that 
might, for a time at least,protect the 
rights of the citizens, and prepare 
the way for a wise and final settle- 
ment. An appeal to arms had al- 
ready been made at Lexington and 
Bunker's Hill ; the continental Con- 
gress had made a special order for 

raising troops in and for North Car- 
olina, and the movements of Gov. 
Martin indicated his purpose to try 
at least to regain his ascendency in 
the Province by force ; and safety as 
well as political consistency, con- 
strained the Provincial Congress to. 
undertake the far from easy task of 
organizing the military force of the 
country, and putting it in a condition 
of defence. In short, the Congress 
was compelled to consider itself the 
only legitimate authority in the 
country, to act as the representative 
— no longer of the Whig Party — but, 
of the entire People, as the successor, 
in fact and in law, of the recent re- 
gal administration, in one word, as 
the State : and so it assumed and 
discharged all the duties of a duly 
appointed and authorized body of 
legislators. The movement was in- 
deed a revolutionary one, and altho' 
all hope of reconciliation with the 
government at home was by no 
means extinguished, the assumption 
of power was defined only by the ir- 
resistible necessities of the times. 

Among noticeable circumstances 
connected with this Congress is the 
large increase in the number of the 
Delegates. Not less than two hun- 
hred and thirteen were duly elected, 
and of these, there were present at 
the first . day'"s session one hundred 
and eighty-three, an increase of num- 
bers which proves the prevalence of 
Whig Principles, and an attendance 
which proves a general confidence in 
the final triumph of their cause. — 



Among those whose names are not 
found in the records of earlier Con- 
ventions, were many whose weight 
of character and social influence 
made their presence valuable, and 
not a few whose tried patriotism and 
abilities added new force and a wise 
guidance to the progress of the Revo- 
lution. There was Alexander Mar- 
tin, of Guilford, afterwards Govern- 
or of the State, a man of much acti- 
vity and versatility of character, — 
and some pretensions to literary cul- 
tivation ; and Waightstill Avery, 
of Mecklenburg, afterwards attorney 
General of the State, one of the he- 
roes of the Mecklenburg Declaration, 
a shrewd lawyer, and whose integri- 
ty no less than his deliberate wis- 
dom, made his counsels weighty : — 
from New Hanover Alexander Lil- 
lington and James Moore, whose 
turn of mind seemed to have already 
marked then out for military life ; — 
from Wilmington, Archibald Ma- 
claine, a man of warm passions and 
strong prejudices and quick discern- 
ment, and one who had embarked in 
the Whig cause with all the perseve- 
ring impetuosity of his natere : from 
Brunswick, Maurice Moore, once 
almost a pet of Tryon, and who had 
heretofore, in trying times, blended 
the ardor of the politician with the 
calm impartiality of the Bench, one 
of the soundest lawyers of his day ; 
and,not now to be mentioned without 
sorrow, Francis Nash of Hillsboro', 
the skillful soldier, the chivalrous 
gentleman, whose untimely though 

honorable death his country mourn- 
ed, as she has mourned few others. 
I may not here particularise the ma- 
ny and arduous labors of these able 
men, or the share in them even which 
was borne by Mr. Caswell. The 
History of this Congress would de- 
mand a lecture for itself. But of all 
the able men, in this most important 
body — and there had been no previ- 
ous Congress to be compared with 
this in the importance of its labors, 
or the high talents of its members — 
there was no one more active, more 
unwavering, more trusted, no one 
who did more work, or harder work 
or in more responsible places, than 
Mr. Caswell ; and none contribu- 
ted more than he to make the gov- 
ernment steadfast, and the military 
arrangements complete, and the in- 
terest of the Whigs triumphant 
through North Carolina. He was 
re-elected a delegate to the Conti- 
nental Congress, which was to meet 
in September, and was also chosen 
Treasurer for the Southern District 
of this province. Of the two, as he 
could not well discharge the duties 
of both, he selected the latter office, 
the more honorable because the more 
useful one, though also the more ob- 
scure. This Congress also ordered 
that a battalion of 500 minute men 
be raised in each of the six Superior 
Court Districts, and appointed Al- 
exander Lillington Colonel of the 
one raised in the Wilmington Dis- 
trict, and Richald Caswell of the 
one at Newbern. The records of the 



service kept Mr. Caswell constant- 
ly employed. That in his military 
character he was far from idle, we 
need no better showing than the bat- 
tle at Moore's Creek Bridge. This 
action took place Feb. 27th 1776. 

The British Government was by 
no means disposed to allow its au- 
thority to be denied and resisted 
without a most strenuous effort to 
enforce it, nor was Gov. Martin wil- 
ling to relinquish without a straggle 
his official position in North Caroli- 
na. It was well understood in the 
Province, near the close of 1775, — 
that every effort would be speedily 
made to reduce the Southern Colo- 
nies to obedience, and Wilmington 
was supposed to be the point at 
which the first demonstrations were 
to be made. Gov. Martin was sta- 
tioned near this point, in easy com- 
munication with the Highlanders on 
the upper Cape Fear, and the Begu- 
lators in the interior ; and the ru- 
mor was current that Sir Henry 
Clinton was to sail in the Winter 
from New York for this place, with 
a large force, and Sir Peter Parker 
and Lord Cornwallis were expected 
from Ireland about the same time, 
with a large naval and land arma- 
ment. The Whig leaders also were 
on the alert to do what might be 
done to avert or resist an enemy so 
formidable. And it is remarkable 
that, inexperienced in military mat- 
ters as the most of them were, utter- 
ly without training, as the body of 
the people were on whom they must 

rely, brief as were their time and 
scanty as were their means for pre- 
paration, we do not find that among 
these leaders any man's cheek grew 
pale, or heart failed him in view of 
t' e desperate odds. The men turn- 
ed out cheerfully at the summons of 
their officers, yielded readily to dis- 
cipine, submitted to privation and 
hardship, and showed themselves ev- 
erywhere and in every way, faithful 
to the cause and "eager for the fray." 
Of the events before and during the 
Battle, Col Moore's letter will tell 
all I need now to say. 

The results of this action on the 
general movements of the whole Ee- 
volutionary War, are, now, hardly 
to be calculated. The entire plan of 
the Southern campaign, suggested 
by Martin and decided on in the 
Eoyal Cabinet, was disconcerted and 
broken up ; and the attempt to sub- 
jugate the South postponed for years. 
The influence of Gov. Martin in this 
Province was brought to an end : — 
the most loyal portion of the inhab- 
itants, the only sure and important 
nucleus of a rising for the Crown, de- 
feated and disheartened ; and the 
Whig portion of the people encour- 
aged, as well they might be, by this 
success, moved onward, full of hope, 
to the consummation of their plans. 
If there had been faltering in any pa- 
triot heart before, this event effectu- 
ally subdued it ; and from that hour, 
whatever disaffection and lingerings 
of the old allegiance there might be 
in some few districts, the great body 
of the people were steadfast and un- 



mistakably Whig. The records of 
the time which have come down to 
us, whether in the form of public Re- 
solutions or private letters, all point 
to Col. Caswell, as the leading spir- 
it in that engagement. They all, so 
far as I know, without .exception, — 
mention him as the Commanding Of- 
ficer of the American forces in that 
action. All the Historians who have 
written of it, excepting Jones, give 
the same account, and Jones inclines 
to give the first honors of the day to 
Colonel Lillington, mainly on the 
ground that the field of battle, lying 
in his (New Hanover) District, he 
must have out-ranked Caswell. — 
The question is one of very secondary 
importance, and as no one has im- 
peached the valor or skilful conduct 
of either of them on that occasion, is 
reduced almost to a question of words. 
Yet as the recent discussion of it has 
given some interest to it, I may be- 
allowed to state what seems to me to 
be the truth about it : and I do so 
with no other feeling than a desire 
to do the justice which strict histori- 
cal criticism demands. 

They both were Colonels of the re- 
cently raised battalions of minute 
men ; one of the New Hanover bat- 
tallion, so called, as it appears to me, 
not to imply any exclusive or peculi- 
ar local jurisdiction, but simply be 
cause his men were mainly enlisted 
there j the other of the Newbern bat- 
tallion, so called for the same reason 
They were both appointed by the 
same authority on the same day. — 
They both acted under Col. Moore, 

who was their superior as being of 
the Continental line. They were 
both sent by his orders to Moore's 
Cr^ek Bridge. Col. Lillington 
reached the Bridge first, and was 
joined there by Col. Caswell in the 
afternoon of the next day. Of the 
two officers, of the same grade, and 
date of appointment, which would 
take the command? Probably the 
question was never raised between 
them. But had it been raised, it 
seems to me that naturally he would, 
if either, who commanded severally 
the largest force. Lillington had un- 
der him 150 men and Caswell some 
800. Had there been a competition 
we can hardly doubt the result. — 
The claim of precedence on the ground 
that they were in Lillington's District, 
rests on no evidence. The Congress 
which appointed them established no 
such principle. Not a single contem- 
porary writer alludes in any way to 
such a principle. On the contrary, 
all who then wrote of it, if they men- 
tion only one of them, speak always 
of Col. Caswell, as he who held the 
command. Colonel Purviance, of 
Brunswick, wrote to the "Wilmington 
Committee, Feb. 24th, three days 
before the battle, giving them a 
sketch of what had been done, and 
what was to be done on the Cape 
Fear, and adds : " I have acquainted 
Col. Caswell with what I have done 
and requested his assistance." Yet 
he belonged to Col. Lillington's Dis- 
trict, and though he does not speak 
of Lillington at all, seems to have 
had recourse to Caswell, as the prin- 



cipal leader, because he had so large 
a body of troops with him ; whose 
number Purviance magnifies to 11 or 
1200 men. Surely he must have ap- 
plied to Lillington or in some way 
have recognized him, if he had known 
— and if true he must have known it 
— that Lillington ranked all his peers 
in his own District. Col. Moore, 
who was above them both, in his 
public dispatch says nothing to inti- 
mate the superiority of either. But 
in a letter written the day after the 
battle, without any mention of Col. 
Lillington — whom he could Lot have 
omitted, had he considered him the 
chief in command — uses in his ac- 
count of the action, this noticea- 
ble language : "The Tories, led by 
McLeod, advanced with iotrepity, 
to attack Col. Caswell, who was en- 
trenched on advantageous ground." 
And in another letter to Mr, Har- 
nett, [?] of the same date, he speaks 
of Farquard Campbell the Tory and 
Traitor as having been carried priso- 
ner to Col. Caswell's (not Lilling- 
ton's) camp." Such notices show 
the opiuion eutertained by the best 
judges at that time, on the question. 
The action of the next Provincial 
Congress is, if possible, more conclu- 
sive. That body met on the 4th of 
April, five weeks after the battle, — 

i and were certainly in possession of 
all the facts connected with it. On 
the 12th a Eesolution was passed in 
these words : "Besolved, That the 

i thanks of this Congress be given to 
Col. Eichard Caswell, and the brave 
officers and soldiers under his com- 

mand, for the very essential service 
by them rendered this Country at 
the Battle of Moore's Creek." "We 
are not at liberty to imagine that this 
Congress, on such an occasion, could 
have been guilty, wilfully or igno- 
rantly, of so gross injustice, as to have 
publicly awarded to Caswell the ho- 
nors of that day, if Lillington had in 
fact held the command. To have 
done so, under such circumstances, 
would have been more than a crime ; 
it would have been a blunder. 

But the later action of the same 
Congress shows that this was a 
deliberate Eesolution. On the 
22d of the same month the Con- 
gress took "into consideration the 
state and arrangement of the mi- 
litia of the Province." The first 
thing to be done was to select six 
persons, the best fitted for such 
office, by personal character and 
military skill and experience, to 
take the chief command of the 
militia in the six Judicial Districts 
as Brigadier Generals. The choice 
for each District would naturally 
fall upon some one residing in 
said District. But we cannot sup- 
pose that in this first distribution 
of high honors, the Congress 
would overlook him, whose cour- 
age and skill had been so recently 
signalized at Moore' Creek, and 
who had rendered then so great 
and incalculable service to his 
country. It would have been poor 
encouragement to soldierly vir- 
tues, and sadly silly policy for men 
who were anxious,above all things, 
to create an efficient military or- 
ganization, to pass by one who 
had thus proved himself the "chief 



of all their strength," and place 
untried, or less tried men overhis 
head. Yet what was the result ? 
Allen Jones was chosen for Hali- 
fax District ; Edward Vail for E- 
denton ; Griffith Rutherford for 
Salisbury ; Thomas Person for 
Hillsboro' ; for "Wilmington, not 
Lillington but John Ashe ; for 
Newbern Richard Caswell. Lil- 
lington was retained in his form- 
er rank only, and put in charge of 
the Sixth Provincial Regiment. — 
Had Lillington been the first in 
command at Moore's Creek, could 
our Fathers have shown them- 
selves so far forgetful of propriety 
and so regardless of their own in- 
terests, as openly and deliberately 
to have given the honors of the 
victory and the rewards of the yic- 
tory, to one who fought under 
him ? It is observable that neith- 
er Caswell nor Lillington was a 
member of the Congress, when 
these resolutions were passed, — 
and these appointments made. — 
Lillington was not a member at 
all. Caswell had been returned 
from Dobbs county, but the House 
refused him a seat (had they been 
especially partial to him, the diff- 
iculty might have been gotten o- 
ver, ) on the ground of his hold- 
ing a commission "in. the Minute 
Service." He was re-elected from 
the same county and allowed to 
take his seat on the 27th. "What 
Mr. Caswell may have had to do 
with the subsequent movement, 
we do not know, but on the 1st 
of May the resolution appointing 
six Brigadier Generals was rescin- 
ded, and on the 4th, those former- 
ly appointed to that office were re- 
appointed with one exception, — 

that in the Newbern District Wm. 
Bryan was put in the place of Mr. 
Caswell. As he was made Brig. 
General while yet not a member 
of the Congress, and the substitu- 
tion of Wm. Bryan took place 
while he was a member, and soon 
after he took his seat and had been 
placed on the Military Committee 
we must presume that the change 
was made with his concurrence, 
and very likely at his suggestion. 
What prompted this on his part 
we can only conjecture. Certain- 
ly the honors and offices so freely 
showered upon him, by this and 
jlater Legislatures, forbid us to 
jSiippose r that he was now dropped 
from this office with any design 
to mortify him, or with any tho't 
of his unfitness for the place. 

As a slight circumstance, yet 
showing the popular judgment of 
the times, I may mention that a 
child born in Duplin, not very far 
from the place of the action, on 
the day when the battle was fought 
was named Caswell, by his deligh- 
ted father, in honor of him who 
Jcommanded on that day. Had 
the general opinion been at the 
time that Lillington command- 
ed, the infant would have been 
named Lillington. That infant, 
I believe, still survives in the per- 
son of Rev. Caswell Drake, a ven- 
erable and highly respected min- 
ister of the Methodist Church. — 
This, to be sure, is only tradition, 
but tradition of that peculiar kind 
which, being contemporaneous 
with the event, and continued to 
our time, has, to us, the solid val- 
ue of almost record evidence. 


Poetical Works of Philo Henderson. 



Hast thou e'er felt the aching of the heart, 
When its most cherished hopes and prospects die i 
And felt the tear of hopeless sorrow start, 
As the dull hours on leaden wings went by ? 

The question 's vain, for thou art fair and young, 
No cloud has ever rested on thy brow ; 

From age and woe, such dreamings never sprung, 
From youth and love such musings only flow. 

Come, Sing ine a Song. 

Come, sing me a song of love and youth, 
When the heart was pure and free ; 

And the soul looked through the eye in truth, 
And the lips talked earnestly. 

Let it be a tale of other days, 

In the years forever gone ; 
O'er which the light of Mem'ry's rays 

Is so softly, sweetly thrown. 

When first thy sweet and heavenly face 

Like a star rose o'er my soul, 
And thy witching smile and winning grace, 

Frst began their soft control. 

Those good old times, how bright they seem, 
Through the gathering mist of years ; 

How fondly oft of them we dream, 
In this cold, dark vale of tears. 

Dearer to me are the memories 

Of the halcyon days of youth, 
Than the world with all its wealth and ease, 

With its want of love and truth. 

Then Bing a song of the golden times, 

When our hearts beat happily, 
And we spent the hours in love and rhymes, 

Alone 'neath the greenwood tree. 

Bright Rain-Drops. 

Bright rain-drops fell on a lonely spot, 
Where storms had left their blackened trace, 

By smiling sunbeams long forgot, 
A sad — most melancholy place. 

There fair flowers sprung on fragile stems, 

And soft Elyaian perfumes rose ; 
While bright birds caroll'd choral hymns, 

As sweet as ever song-land knows. 

Thus on a heart forgotten, lone 
Sweet maiden let thy loving words, 

Fall soothingly and with a tone 
Like song ofhappy Summer birds. 

Then, thoughts of soft and golden hue, 

Will o'er it fly on airy wings, 
And hopes fall on it soft as dew, 

Which twilight from her mantle flings. 

And the far future will display 

A long array of prospects bright. 
Like roses at the dawn of day, 

Wet with the dews of vanished night, 

From blushing morn till dew}' eve, 
The golden footed hours will run, 

And all night long my fancy weave, 
Breams of a happy life begun. 

To Rotha. 

Through the dim shadows of the gathering years, 
A glorious vision flashes on my sight, 

The image af an angel whose pure tears 
Were Bhed for me, in sorrows starless night. 

Through the world's noise and madd'ning revelry, 
A soft sweet voice to my sad spirit comes, 

With strains as mournful as the ling'ring bee 
That round some dying flower in Autumn hums. 

That voice and image with their magic power 
Recall the days of love, that are no more, 

And o'er my soul at twilight's haunted hour 
A flood of melancholly memories pour. 

Then thou, sweet spirit of my heart's last dream, 
Dost rise in mem'ry's Bky a beauteous star, 

And many a mocking vision 'neath its beam 
Smiles sadly in that sainted land afar. 



And glad'ning scenes by thy sweet presence lit, 
Come robed in beauty, as they were of yore, 

And mournfully as they before me flit 
Sing of the golden days th at are no more. 

That beauteous star I thought would never set, 
Yet it no longer sheds its light on me, 

Those smiling scenes — scenes I cannot forget, 
They live — but live alas in memory. 

Whilst o'er a heart- that cannot know repose, 
With all it bears — with all it ever bore, 

The tearful star of sad'ning mem'ry throws 
The solemn light of days that are no more. 

And o'er a soul where weary shadows dwell, 
The future flashes from its unkuown shore ; 

No beams of hope that with their light could quell, 
The memory of vain days that are no more. 

To Rotha. 

Many a year had passed away, 
And many a melancholly day 

To the dim past had fled, 
E'en thy sweet form rose like a dream— 
Or tearful star whose trembling beam, 

On some lone isle is shed. 

'Mid the bright forms which mem'ry's light, 
Saves from Oblivion's starless night, 

And the decay of years ; 
As thine — none rises on the view 
So pure, so beautiful, so true, 

In Time's dark vale of tears. 

And down the future's misty vale} 
Where syren Hope, her mystic tale 

Of fairy regions tells, 
No face so softly sweet as thine 
Or rapturtd eyes, with such divine — 

Such magic beauty swells. 

The Pilgrim who has wandered far 
O'er distant lands without a star 

To gild his gloomy way j - 
Or green oasis like an isle 
To shed around its glad'ning smile, 

Where babbling fountains play ; 

When some bright star bursts from on high, 
Or desert island meets his eye, 

Feels no such ecstacy, 
As thrilled me when thy angel form 
Rose like the rainbow o'er the etorm, 

And shed its light on me. 

I deemed thee, Rotha, at that hour 
When first thy voice's witching power, 

To my rapt heart was borne, 
An Angel from the realms above 
Sent down on earth to tell of love 

And hope to those who mourn. 

And when the stars in heaven are mot, 
Its murmured tones come floating yet, 

Like songs of some pure stream ; 
And when the angel Sleep descends, 

And gently o'er me whispering bends, 
My heart those tones and whispers blends, 

And sleep— of thee to dream. 

To Rotha. 

Entrancinoly at twilight hour, 

The spirit dreams of thee, 
Like weeping dew along the flower, 

Steal o'er my memory. 

Thoughts that in silence long have lain, 

Then hurry thick and fast, 
Along the quick electric chain 

Which binds me to the past. 

Thy angel face seems bending then 

O'er me in tenderness, 
Like some pure, sinless spirit when, '*, 

It comes from Heaven to bless. 

The winds that whisper through the trees, 

Then sing to me of thee ; 
And softly comes on every breeze, 

Thy voice's melody. 

And in each star whose quivering flame 

Then beams along the sky, 
I read thy sweet aud magic name, 

With thoughtful* musing eye, 

Among the gentle whisperings, 

That then go murm'ring by, 
I hear thy spirit's angel wings 

Divinely waving nigh. 

Alone in silence then I dream 
Of thee, — sweet child of Heaven ; 

And to me a transient gleam 
Of happiness is given. 

The Flower of Catawba, 

Down in a fair romantic vale, 
Where willows weep, and to the gale, 

Their sighing branches fling ; 
A Peerless flower unfolds its leaves, 



■When eve her mystic mantle weavesj 
And twilight waves its wing. 

And long, bright, sunny years have flown, 
O'er its sweet head, and each one strewn 

On its pure leaves fresh bloom ; 
And many a soft and balmy breeze 
From off Catawba's flowery leas, 

Has breathed on it perfume. 
And never since that golden morn, 
When earliest flowers of time were born, 

'Neath Eden's cloudless sky, 
Has evening shed its weeping dew, 
Or stars looked from their homes of blue 

On one with it could vie. 

For that sweet flower the silver wave 
That weeps beneath the Indians grave 

And echoes still his song, 
As it sweeps onward to the sea, 
Pours streams of plaintive melody, 

Its winding shores along. 

To it was, at its natal hour, 

By her who reigns in Flora's bower 

Immortal beauty given ; 
And when from off its native shore, 
It greets the evening star no more, 
Where Eden's sunny waters pour, 

'Twill fadeless bloom in Heaven. 

On Receiving a Present from a Lady. 

A way-worn pilgrim dying lay 

Far from the haunts of men, 
Where he had fallen on his way, 

O'ercome with woe and sin. 

Fast gathering was the gloomy night 

O'er the dim wilderness, 
When down an Angel bent its flight, 

The pilgrim lone to bless. 
The gentle murmur of its wings, 

Breathed on his pallid brow, 
Soft as the soothing whisperings 

Of some pure streamlet's flow. 
Ho turned his dim and glazing eyo J 

On its angelic face, 
And there he met the sweet reply — 

" We yet should win the race." 
The pilgrim's heart then warmer grew, 

His eye regained its light ; 
His fears and weakness from him threw 

And boldly braved the night. 
And on him beamed along his way 

The Angel's smile divine, 
Until at last before him lay 

The holy, long.sought shrine. 

The Printing Press. 

This is a subj ect upon which much 
has been said and written. Its 
benefits to mankind have been ex- 
tolled by the philanthropist, his- 
torian and divine ; but so wonder- 
ful is the invention, and fraught 
as it is, with such mighty conse- 
quences to mankind, that too 
much can never be said in its 
praise. Never can we sufficiently 
appreciate the benefits of that no- 
ble art, which, at first, was looked 
upon with distrust, and caused its 
inventors to be accused of witch- 
craft and dealings with the enemy 
of mankind, but which now is 
viewed as a great and glorious 
machine for the improvement of 
the world. In reviewing the his- 
tory of the world — in contempla- 
ting the rise and fall of govern- 
ments ; in reading of the mighty 
exploits of military chieftains ; in 
pursuing the works of scholars or 
statesmen ; and, in fact, conside- 
ring everything of importance that 
has ever been accomplished, the 
conclusion is irresistable, that 
there is npthing that has exerted 
a greater and better influence up- 
on the human race, since the birth 
of our Saviour, than the art of 

In treating of this subject, it is 
our design to mention the impor- 
tant facts, and those only, in as 
brief a manner as possible. From 
the fall of the "Western Empire, to 
about the middle of the fifteenth 
century, literature in Europe was 
almost extinct. The Goths, Van- 
dals, and other barbarous tribes 
of the North coming down like a 
mighty avalanche, had well nigh 



swept from the face of the earth 
what remained of the learning of 
the ancients. And but for the 
zeal displayed by the Arabians, in 
the canse of learning, that long 
night of ignorance in Europe, — 
might not yet have ended. 

This enterprising people, after 
their conquests in Spain, founded 
their Universities, from which 
knowledge diffused itself through 
other European nations, but this 
bright spark was soon obscured 
by a thick gloom of darkness. — 
Europe remained in this lethargic 
state until somewhere about the 
twelfth or thirteenth century, — 
when a taste for literature arose, 
which anterior to this time had 
been confined almost exclusively 
.to the Monks, to whom- all praise 
as due for their laborious efforts 
in the cause of mental improve- 
ment. To their untiring zeal, in 
transcribing the few books that 
were snatched from the ruins of 
literature, we are indebted for 
what remains to us of the writings 
of the Ancients. Literature from 
this period advanced slowly on- 
ward, until about the .year 1440, 
.when it was placed by the admis- 
. sable genius of a Guttenburg up- 
on a foundation from which it 
can never fall. In this year it was, 
that was proclaimed to the world 
an invention, the noblest of which 
the mind of man ever formed a 
conception. From this period the 
march of knowledge was onwards 
and upwards, and now, after a pe- 
riod of little over four hundred 
years, we seem to have almost ar- 
rived at the highest point of men- 
tal improvement. But against 
this, as against all other inven- 

tions and improvements, Kings 
and rulers, ever distrustful, have 
contended. And even now, after 
this long lapse of time, they are 
still found arrayed in arms against 
the "Liberty of the Press," that 
harbinger of freedom and happi- 
ness to mankind, but of death and 
destruction to tyrants, and they, 
fully aware of it, have always kept 
on the' 'qui vive" to elude, if pos- 
sible, its tremendous attacks a- 
gainst their oppression and tyran- 
ny. Ever a staunch and noble 
friend of the people, the Press has 
been guarded and chained down 
by the despots of Europe. After 
violent opposition to the freedom 
of the Press, to the honor of Eng- 
land be it said, she has at last 
swept from her statute-book, the 
odious and hateful acts of Eliza- 
beth, James and others of her 
Bangs and Queens. 

Elizabeth exerted all her influ- 
ence against the liberty of the 
Press, but still she was not able to 
destroy it, but like the giant of 
old, its strength was renewed as 
often as it touched the ground. — 
Her statute-book abounds in acts 
levelled against the freedom of the 
Printing Press, among which we 
notice one forbidding under heavy 
penalties, the publication of a book 
anywhere else except in London, 
Cambridge or Oxford, and severe 
penalties against anything pub- 
lished in derogation of any of the 
established customs and laws of 
the kingdom. 

In considering the mighty chan- 
ges and revolutions that have been 
effected in the religious and poli- 
tical condition of the world, by 
the art of printing, we stand back 



in astonishment. It is almost im- 
possible to believe tliat the inven- 
tive talent of an obscure individu- 
al, resident in the small town of 
Strasbourg, has produced an en- 
gine of revolution to the world. 

Under its benign influence the 
gospel has been preached to the 
Heathen of the most distant land. 
It has raised from barbarism and 
misery, thousands of our fellow- 
beings, and taught them to look 
upon themselves as human crea- 
tures, endowed with reason and 
intellect; it has freed man from 
the galling yoke of despotism, and I 
hurled from the throne the un- 
worthy tenants of power. Aye, 
and it has loosed the minds of the 
people from the shackles of a cor- 
rupt and detested priesthood, — 
and placed the scriptures in the 
hands of the poorest and humblest 

Such are a few of the invalua- 
ble offices that have been effected 
by printing. There are few things 
upon which it has not exerted a 
beneficial influence. What avast 
change has been wrought in Eu- 
rope since its discovery ! Even 
there, with all the violence which 
has been opposed to its progress, 
instead of, as formerly, an ignorant 
and debased population, is found 
intelligence, politeness and refine- 
ment. Colleges and schools eve- 
ry where abound ; the rivers bear 
upon their broad bosoms craft of 
every description, and upon their 
banks, instead of the wild war- 
hoop of the savage, is heard the 
song of the peasant and the hum 
of the manufactory. 

But as great as have been the 
changes effected in Europe, it 

claims America as the field of 
the greatest and noblest of its ex- 
ploits. Here, almost crushed in 
the old world, it took up its abode 
among a brave and hardy people, 
and adopted this as its future home 
With none to oppress for the pro- 
mulgation of free and patriotic 
sentiment, but which, perhaps, — 
might be offensive to royal ears, 
our people have advanced steadily 
in knowledge and literary taste. 
The forests have made way for 
Universities, Colleges and Schools; 
books that formerly could be pur- 
chased only by the wealthy are 
now within the reach of all, and 
thus by a free interchange of opin- 
ions, founded in wisdom and pru- 
dence, our nation has far outstrip- 
ped all, in everything which tends 
to the amelioration and advance- 
ment of the human family. Amer- 
ican literature, which but a few 
years ago was held in derision by 
our self-styled " more refined " 
friends over the ocean, is admired 
and respected at home and abroad. 
What is the cause of this reaction 
in our favor ? — the answer — "lib- 
erty of the Press," is evident to ev- 
ery one — he that runs may read. 
To this and to no other cause can 
it be assigned. To this is also 
due the two noble American in- 
ventions, which are now used and 
admired by the whole civilized 
world — the Steam Press and Tel- 
egraph are truly worthy monu- 
ments of American ingenuity and 
wisdom, and these alone "give the 
lie" to the foreigner who denies, 
to Americans, the first rank in 
point of improvement, or the great 
efficacy of the freedom of the 



Considering the vast advantag- 
es that have accrued to man from 
the invention of printing and the 
liberty of the Press, one could wish 
that nothing could be said to mar 
the pleasure and gratification that 
is experienced in contemplating 
the wonderful effects of this inven- 
tion. But there are few of the 
arts which, with great advanta- 
ges, are, not also attended with 
their evils. Nothing is perfect, 
no, not even man. Printing, pro- 
ductive as it is of so many bene- 
fits to ns, has also been made to 
minister to the worst passions of 
the human breast, and particular- 
ly now-a-days, since it has become 
so universally understood. "When 
perusing the numerous newspa- 
pers, circulars and books that dai- 
ly issue from the Press, abound- 
ing in fierce and bitter invective, 
in dark and treasonable designs a- 
gainst the institutions of our land 
and filled with heresies and infi- 
delity, we could almost wish for 
those by-gone days — not of igno- 
rance, exactly, but when the free- 
dom of the Press was restrained 
by wise and equitable laws. 

Squire Wiliterson's Speech on the 

There is no one who does not re- 
member the great excitement thro'- 
out the South, in the year of our 
Lord 1851, when the questions of 
" States-rights " and " Union " were 
so warmly and zealously discussed. 
This discussion was not limited. to 
the, wise and initiated ; and, though 
every man did not have braes enough 
to mount the rostrum and " spread 

himself," yet it was carried on at 
every cross-road, grocery, and even 
meeting-house, almost, that was to 
be found. The piping "circuit-rider" 
scared the old women into fits by 
telling horrible stories of what was 
to happen when "this glorious Uni- 
on" bursted, and the d — 1 himself 
could not have given the " infernal 
yankees " a worse cursing than they 
very frequently got from some of the 
fire-eating, whiskey-drinking, pine- 
scraping inhabitants of our land. — 
The scathing editorial of some great 
country news-paper furnished them 
with material, and what they lacked 
in arguments they supplied with the 
very reverse of blessings. Very of- 
ten some forest-born genius, of tran- 
scendent talent, would rise in the 
majesty of his eloquence and pour 
forth his wrath. 

Having had the pleasure of listen- 
ing to one of these mighty efforts, I 
will attempt to give the speech and 
the scenes connected with it. 

In the summer of 1851, I was tra- 
veling in a very pleasant portion of 
a State somewhat south of North 
Carolina, and one day, when ap- 
proaching a place called Williams' 
M Eoads, I perceived a large crowd 
assembled, and, apparently, in much 
agitation. I was very soon discov- 
ered and accosted in a manner not 
altogether according to Chesterfield : 
" Hello, mister," said one, " you 
look like you mought be a Yankee, 
and if you are you don't pass here 
that slick ; jist stop and give us a 
look at your countenance." 




I assured him I was no Yankee, 
and feeling glad that I wasn't, pro- 
ceeded to examine affairs more close- 
ly. Inquiring what was the occasion 
of the meeting, I was told that 
Squire Wilkerson was going to give 
them a "talk v on the politics of the 
day, and curiosity led me to wait to 
hear it. Having entered into a con- 
versation with those around me, I 
asked what was the condition of po- 
litical affairs in that neighborhood. 

"Southern rights to the back-bone/ ; 
said one ; " and I tell you what, — 
stranger, if you are one of these 
sight-seem', gkost-fearin' and chick- 
en-hearted 'Union men,' you had 
better keep pretty small about here, 
if you dont want to be lifted on a 

Accepting his warning, I did not 
make a great display of my surplus 
Union-loving zeal, and was soon 
startled by a voice saying : — 

"Oh yes ! gentlemen, all you that's 
'zirous of hearin' a speech on the 
present crisis, will come forward an' 
hear Squire "Wilkerson.' 

Immediately a rush was made for 
the ', stand," which was situated un- 
der a bush arbor, upon a level pine 
plain, and sufficiently elevated to 
give every one a view of the speak- 
er. Near by stood a large Baptist 
Church built of hewn logs, and this 
arbor had been built for certain oc- 
casions, when they held what some 
of the sinners in that neighborhood 
called "distracted meetings," and 
. when the crowd was rather too nu- 

merous for the house to accomodate. 
The said "stand" was a very rude 
imitation of apulpit, consisting of 
a sort of table nailed to a pmetree 
with a kind of box erected upon it ; 
and from this the unconverted often 
got what they said Squire TVilkersbn 
was going to give the Yankees. 

Having examined the premises,^ — 
my next search was for the orator 
of the day. My curiosity was soon 
gratified, for in a few moments a 
voice was heard saying, "niakeroOni 
for the speaker,"and this untutored- 
son of eloquence ascended the ros- 
trum. He was emphatically a true 
specimen of nature's noblemen ; tall,, 
broad-shouldered, big-headed andpe- 
dal formations in proportion. He 
had a sort of "nonchalanty" don't- 
care expression of countenance, — 
which seemed to strike any one with 
the truth that "he could whip any 
man that couldn't whip him." His 
dress was of the latest piney-woods 
agony. His coat was rather ragged 
than Eaglan, and his pants were of 
the best nankeen and very comfort- 
able tights. 

His literary pretensions were all 
based upon the fact of his once hav- 
ing taught school, and from what I 
could learnhe was a sort of "big dog" 
in his neighborhood ; read the Alma- 
nac, county paper and " Statutes," 
and finally got to be "Justice of the 
Peace in and for said County." There 
was one wonderful characteristic in 
the history of his school teaching, — 
and that was, he used to lick all his. 



scholars outrageously and promiscu- 
ously, without distinction of age, sex 
or condition. He didn't follow the 
business but six months, and during 
this time he carried the "young idea" 
from "baker" to "crucifix" and from 
that to "amplification," and I sup- 
pose this great success was the re- 
mote if not the immediate cause of 
his elevation to his present diginifi- 
ed and responsible office. Be that 
as at may, it is certain that he was 
considered "some" in those parts, — 
and Squire Wilkerson was general 
arbiter in all bets, fusses and fights. 

Being possessed of this epitome of 
his history, I prepared myself to 
have a manifestation of his oratoric- 
al powers. "With that air of confi- 
dence that always dwells with in- 
born greatness, he raised himself to 
his full height and gazed around him. 
His breast heaved as with contend- 
ing emotions, and I can't say what 
would have been the consequence, 
had he not found a sedative in a 
glass of "old Dexter" which an ad- 
jacent pitcher furnished. He then 
gazed once more on the assembly, 
wiped away with a huge red banda- 
na handkerchief the perspiration 
from the "brow of thought," rolled 
up his sleeves, unbuttoned his shirt- 
collar, cleared up his throat and 
commenced : — 

"Feller Citizens," said he, "I tell 
you I am jest bustin' with this here 
speech, an' if I fly all to pieces, I jest 
want you to take up every piece an' 
pizen a yankee with it, for I feel as 

wenemous as a highland mockasin. 
The present crisis is big enough to 
make any man feel streaked who 
carries even a gizzard in his bosom, 
and I rise before you to-day to de- 
fend the immutable principles of 
right. Them tall pines whose tops 
are fanned by the Summer's breeze, 
and which look like they'd stand 
here from July to eternity, may all 
be cut down, piled into log heaps to 
rot away on the yeath, or be consu- 
med by the fiery flame. This ground 
on which we stand, and which noWj 
you know, won't sprout cow-peas, 
mought, by good manurin' be made 
rich enough to bring corn, squashes 
or taters. Yes, even the time may 
come when liquor will be skase and 
the Baptists can't find no water , — 
but, I tell you, truth is truth and 
can never change. It will always 
stay fixed and onstained, and you 
mought as well expect that a nigger 
will grow white by bein' scared, or 
a possum not grin when he's tickled, 
as to think it will not ever be the 
same. And I tell you, feller citizens, 
whenever they try to purvent truth, 
there's a fuss in the land. Whenev- 
er they try to pull it from its foun- 
dation, the pillars of government 
tumble, and that is jest what them 
infernal Yankees have been up to, 
ever since Gineral Jackson died. — 
They have been incroachin' on our 
rights jest about long enough, and 
my name ain't Bill Wilkerson if I 
don't feel like driven every one of 
'em into the ocean. They are al- 




ways whinein' about our niggers 
down here, and its only because they 
ain't got none and have to work 
themselves. They quote Scripter 
and make a tarnel fuss 'bout reliffi- 
on, but they are only doin' like that 
man in old times, who strained at a 
gate and swallowed a saw-mill. In- 
stead of workin' like men they are 
always tryin' to cheat somebody with 
wooden nutmegs. They talk about 
their liquor laws, but they love whis- 
key as well as you and I do. All 
they want is our money, and this 
they will have, if lyin' cheatin' and 
stealin' will help 'em any. They'd 
squeeze a quarter till the eagle hol- 
lered and think a dollar bill as big as 
a dutch blanket. These are the fel- 
lers then that say that they will rule 
us and crow over us, and we can't 
help ourselves. Now feller citizens, 
will you stand this ? Will you lie 
here on your backs and let 'em tie 
you hand and foot ? Don't you see 
the crisis has arriv ? Are you in the 
eiteation of that bad-made nigger, — 
what had no eye for to see ? Think 
not because the storm hasn't come 
yet, it ain't er gwine to come. It is 
only gittin' bigger and bigger as it 
lies still, an' it will one day bust 
forth and bury you all before it. 

" Dont let these cowardly Union 
men gull you. They hev found a 
heaven in the Union that'll deceive 
em yet. They think they'll go to 
Congress and be big Governors and 
legislaters on this one cry of Union, 
but if they don't mind they'll hev to 

stay at home and do their own grub- 
in' an' ploughin'. They are 'tarnal- 
ly bawlin' out about some sich out- 
landish names as Bunker Hill, Lex- 
ington and I don't know how many 
others, and tellin' 'bout how Yankee 
and Southern blood was shed togeth- 
er, and blended, but cussed if I dont 
believe it all to be a lie, for I don't 
begin to think the two bloods would 
mix any way. 

''When, then, I ask, will we become 
united, and prepare for the crisis ? 
I feel like fightin' when I see so much 
infurnel foolishness among us. These 
rip-roorin' preachers about here say 
they're tryin' to save you from the 
devil and dis-union, but I can tell 
you, they're gwine to hev both upon 
you, if they keep on. Je-ru-salem ? 
jest to think that this fair land, whar 
we all as shavers fout chickens, run 
horses, stole apples and water-mill- 
ions and got lickins from our dad- 
dies, hunted squirls an' wild hogs an* 
deer, is to be ruled by a set of tal- 
ler-faced, holler-eyed, spindle-shank- 
ed Yankees ! I don't know what 
you may think, but as for me, I had 
rather hear the saw that's niakin' 
the plank for Bill Wilkerson's coffin, 
than see this come to pass. 

" The spark of patriotism is burn- 
in' in my buz em an' I love this sun- 
ny South better nor anything on top 
er the ground, Betsey Wilkerson not 
excepted. I will be one of the fust 
to shoulder a gun and whip the var- 
mints, till they're satisfied an' learn 
some sense. Now feller citizens, let 



me exhort you once more to be on 
your guard. Make yourselves wor- 
thy of yer 'lustrious sires. 'Twas 
your Washington that was the "fath- 
er of his country ;" your Jackson 
that jerked the Britishers out er 
their boots at Orleans ; your Zack 
Taylor and your Jeff Davis that give 
the yaller-skinned Mexicans h — 1 at 
the battle of Buney Yisty. And 
will you disgrace their names ? I 
know you wont. You will yit hev 
grit enough to defend yer rights, — 
and jest recollect that when there's 
any fightin' to be done, Bill Wilker- 
son' in for a couple." 

Here he ended amid the applause 
of his hearers. This eloquent and 
forcible speech had a great effect up- 
me, and I set down "Squire "Wilker- 
son" as a man destined for distinc- 
tion. My impression did not deceive 
me, for the last I heard of him he 
was a candidate for the Legislature, 
and I have no doubt that he was 

H^ 6 * The German Moser a com- 
piler of the last century has left 
480 works, 17 of which are still 
unpulished, 16 are disputed ; these 
would form in all a total of 700 
volumes, whereof there are 71 in 
folio without including 84 vol- 
umes of reprints, or new editions 
of his works, nor 4 volumes of 
which he was only editor, nor 24 
dissertations or articles which he 
had furnished for three compila- 
tions, nor 26 numbers of weekly 
notices of literary news from Sua- 



The present number begins our con- 
nection with the Magazine. Our 
Class-mates have done us the honor 
to place us in the responsible posi- 
tion of Editors, and when we ac- 
knowledge that we shall always feel 
thankful for this favor, we must be 
allowed to express our deep interest 
in the success of the Magazine, and 
appeal to the friends of the Univer- 
sity for support. The tone of our 
College is estimated, in a great de- 
gree, by its literary spirit, and with 
this literary spirit all of us are, more 
or less intimately connected. 

The Magazine has, for the last 
year, suffered much by the indiffer- 
ence of the Students to its welfare 
and advancement. They seemed to 
forget that their reputation abroad 
was in some measure linked with the 
character of their Magazine. As a 
"tree is judged by its fruits," so are 
men estimated by their productions. 
Through this very organ, we all lay 
ourselves open to the criticisms of 
the world, and the discriminations 
observed among us may be disregar- 
ded elsewhere. Our cheeks would 
redden with shame, were we under 
the necessity of announcing that in 
a College of four hundred young men, 
we could not maintain a Monthly 
Magazine in a decent and respecta 
ble manner. The material is not 

There is genius enough 



among our students, were it proper- 
ly cultivated, and thoroughly arous- 
ed, to make ours an excellent perio- 

The idea that Editors, alone, for 
the Magazine, is all that is necessary 
and that they can do everything, is 
a great error, and one which we 
trust may be soon removed. We 
have much to do, yet we cannot act 
without assistance. The cordial co- 
operation of every North Carolinian 
is sought and expected, and the old 
"North State" will have to deny that 
lofty feeling of pride that she has so 
long boasted of, if this is refused. — 
We appeal to all for support. Youth- 
ful intellect is now being fledged and 
plumed for its first flight, and if it 
has to encounter cold and rigid at- 
mospheres, it may sink down, crush- 
ed, to rise no more. A sad scene it 
would be to attend the funeral of our 
Magazine, and read that darkest of 
all epitaphs : — "Died of utter Pover- 
erty." Then would many beautiful 
associations be broken up, many 
bright memories clouded, and many 
hearts would carry away that melan- 
choly conviction which settles down 
upon us when conscience whispers : 
" Ye knew your duty but ye did it 

But we have too much confidence 
in the magnanimity of those around 
to indulge in such gloomy conjec- 
tures. The sunshine of patronage is 
pouring upon us, and we have high 
hopes of success. 

As for ourselves, we stand pledg- 
ed to do everything in our own pow- 
er for the good of the Magazine. It 
is the altar upon which we offer up 
our first intellectual fruits, and if 
devotion to its cause would render 
them acceptable, we should not fear . 
the result. 

With quiet confidence we shall 
enter upon our labors, and if we fail 
we shall yet find consolation in the 
truth : — 

" Who does the best his circumstance allows, 
Does well, acts nobly ; angels could do no more." 

Despotism of Popular Opinion. 

The Despotism of Popular Opinion, 
is a subject which has occasioned us 
much thought, and, we think, must 
be felt and acknowledged by all. It 
is a truth that holds its sway, unaid- 
ed by the song of poesy, the flowers 
of fancy, or the magic of eloquence. 
It is a reality that brings no confir- 
mation to beautiful presentiments, 
no heaven of beauty to the blissful 
dreams of romance, nor does it de- 
velope in all its majesty, some grand 
and startling law of the material 
world. On the contrary, it is an 
homely fact, exerting an immediate 
influence. The terms "people" and 
"despotism" may, to some, appear 
directly contradictory, and a combi- 
nation of the two singular and ab- 
surd. From the foundation of the 
world, this word "people" has been a 
mighty engine of power. It has 
served to arouse every sympathy of 


noeth caeolina university magazine. 

the human breast and rendered im- 
mortal that poetic saying, that "the 
cause of the people is the cause of 
Stimulated by it, men have wrought 
deeds which would form an Angel's 
*jOng and left names glowing with 
the radience of glory. We will not 
deny, then, that the history of pop- 
ular influences has bright and genial 
pages. We will not even deny that 
it has, sometimes, been marked with 
justice, and it is a beautiful memory 
that points to times when we have 
seen it struggling with oppression 
and asserting the laws of right. It 
drove back the ruthless marauder of 
Austrian tyranny, and gave liberty 
a home on the rude mountain tops 
of Switzerland. It lifted away the 
cloud of superstition and ignorance 
from a part of Germany, and gave it 
light from the lamp of freedom. It 
buried beneath the waves of the 
ocean the boasted Armada of Sprin, 
and filled with "celestial fire" the 
bosoms of Hampden, Sydney and 
Eussell. And more than all, burn- 
ing brightly through storms that ex- 
tinguished everything but itself, it 
opposed successfully the encroach- 
ments of British arrogance and form- 
ed a government, the beauty of which 
astonished the world. 

Such have been its beneficial ef- 
fects, but despite all these, we still 
assert that there is a despotism of 
popular opinion, which constitutes 
the most oppressive system of gov- 
ernment that ever cursed mankind. 

It is no anti-republican feeling that 
prompts this assertion. We are no 
misanthrope, railing at humanity 
from bitter disappointments ; no de- 
sciple of Diogenes complaining of 
the world because it is not brutal ; 
no propagator of maxims, no teach- 
er of morals. "The will of the ma- 
jority shall rule," has ever been and 
is now the rallying cry of all demo- 
cratic systems. We bow with acqui- 
escence to this dictum, when we 
know this will to be directed to the 
right, but it is a question of debate 
that it is always so ; though reason 
would seem to say that the opinions 
of many are better indications of jus- 
tice than those of a few, yet experi- 
ence has not confirmed it. True, we 
feel a greater assurance of a fact, — 
when we have the views of ma- 
ny to attest its certainty, yet when 
we reflect how few minds are capa- 
ble of solid thought, how few are ed- 
ucated in their feelings or even pos- 
sess the faculty of intuitive percep- 
tion, how few are free from senseless 
prejudices and even base supersti- 
tions, we ought to limit this ralianee 
and hesitate in adopting for our own 
the popular verdict. We infer then 
that the "vox populi" is not always 
a safe guide, and is often totally 
wrong. Its despotism is insidious, 
as it is imposed upon us in the speci- 
cious forms of liberty and equality. 
It decries in thundering tones the ve- 
ry evils it imposes upon us, and 
drowns with its syren song, the 
death-groans of its victims. It is a 



despotism under -whose power jus- 
tice yields to force, humanity weeps 
and liberty laments over her repro- 
bate offspring. In its brutal howl- 
ings, the voice of genius is hushed, 
the song of poesy becomes silent and 
the magic of eloquence polluted and 
degenerated. The base passions it 
fosters do away with all refinement 
of feeling. The mental food it gives 
and receives serves but to madden 
the soul, and it furnishes nothing to 
elevate or to enlighten. Storm af- 
ter storm of this despotism has swept 
over the world, carrying off its 
brightest flowers of hope and chang- 
ing its gardens into deserts. There 
is not a spot that has not been blight- 
ed by its poisonous breath. The 
classic fields of Jove-favored Attica, 
now gloomy in their solitude, have 
often been desolated by its ravages. 
Beneath its rule the god-like Socra- 
tes is seen rising, the cup of Hem- 
lock to his lips j the just Aristides 
driven from his native land, and the 
heroic Miltiades perishing amid the 
gloom and silence of a dungeon. By 
its superstition the Academic walks 
became as arid fields and the plants 
of genius sickened and died on the 
top of Parnassus. Close by its in- 
sidious form walked its sister, Cor- 
ruption, which wrote the doom of 
Athens oh every wall. Kor has the 
land whieh was made glorious by the 
eloquence of Cicero, the songs of Vir- 
gil and the renown of Caesar, been 
free from the evils of this despotism. 
Its maddening shouts formed the re- 

quium when Brutus fell, and it wel- 
comed the name of Emperor with the 
same enthusiasm that it banished 
that of King. Carried away by the 
titles of military fame, seduced by 
the gold ot political schemers and 
cajoled by the basest flattery it 
threw the mantle of darkness on ev- 
ery thing around, until coming down 
like night, it "sealed Bome's eternal 
graA^e." The scathing satires of Ju- 
venal were of no avail; the pungent 
wit of Horace proved a useless wea- 
pon and in vain did the iEneid recall 
the names and deeds of heroic ages. 

But these horrible details do not 
end here. Civilization, which im- 
proves all things else, has not dimin- 
ished the despotism of popular opin- 
ion. The eighteenth and nineteenth 
centuries have recorded its evils. — 
The French Bevolution displayed it 
in all its horrid forms. Over the fair 
bosom of France, it raged as some 
mighty volcano, belching forth poi- 
son as deadly as the venom of devils. 
The pillars of religion were torn from 
their foundations, the seats of virtue 
made desolate and empty and the 
dwelling of human affections made 
the home of dark and bloody Furies. 
Age lost its reverance, innocence its 
sanctity and morality its respect. — 
It was a despotism resistless as an 
Alpine avalanche, and he who stood 
before it met with an ignominious 
death. It acknowledged no leader 
but its own blind passions, and de- 
stroyed alike its friends and its foes. 

The mild and gentle Louis died 



like the fierce and bloody Bebespi- 
erre. The angelic Marie Antoinette 
met the same fate as the demon Dan- 
ton. The accomplished Madame 
Eowland made red with her blood 
the same place as the rude and piti- 
less St. Just. The Princess DeLam- 
balle, Vergniaud, Petion, Barnave, 
all were destroyed, the victims of this 
enticing despotism. 

But again : — Let us come nearer 
home. An American proudly boasts 
of his popular government, for, with 
our present spirit would we acknowl- 
edge any other : yet is there no 
desp otism of the people among us ? 
Digest our political history, and ev- 
erywhere you will see it blotted by 
this evil. You will see where merit 
has been discarded, truth crushed 
and intrigue triumphant. You will 
see defiance to law, disobedience to 
custom and bright memories stained. 
Corruption has been gradually steal- 
ing upon us, and popular opinion has 
become too much degraded to repress 
it. The people are becoming j«alous 
of the power they, themselves crea- 
ted, and none, save exponants of 
their wild schemes, need seek for el- 
evation. Men are trembling for the 
safety-of this government, and yet, 
see not the evil which threatens to 
destroy it. They are tossed about 
as if shaken by an earthquake, and 
know not from whence comes the 
shock. , 

Such is the despotism of popular 
opinion, in a political point of view, 
and the question now naturally ari- 

ses, how to avert this ? We answer, 
educate the masses. An uneducated 
people can never govern itself. — 
There are prejudices that nothing 
can remove save the light of knowl- 
edge. Preach as you will about the 
capacity of man for self-government, 
it has not been reduced to practice. 
The principles of political economy 
must become more general, the dis- 
tinction between right and wrong 
more marked, some substitute for 
demagogueism as the standard of el- 

But the despotism of popular opin- 
ion does not stop here. It is found 
in all our social relations, exerting 
the same pernicious influences. Its 
blight may be seen on every family, 
crushing its comfort and happiness. 
It drives away from bosoms their 
own sense of right, and gives as a 
substitute the opinion of the multi- 
tude. Is it not a despotism we serve 
when despite our own feelings we 
live and act ? How contemptible 
are we, when at the origin of some 
new principle, we lay aside our own 
faculties and crouch to catch the po- 
pular opinion ! What heretics to 
the faith that God has given us a 
mind, the form of which is eternal ! 
We do not speak now of external 
fashion, of dress, bodily equipage or 
manners. We concede to style all 
its demands, for it is a matter of se- 
condary importance. But we are 
decrying an evil that affects the 
brightest constituents of our compo- 
sition. It is with grief that we be- 



hold the soul fettered in its flight by- 
shackles of vulgar forging, and "we 
are often called to mourn over the 
withered buds of affection that might 
have blessed a world with their fra- 
grance, but for the dampening influ- 
ences of popular opinion. But the 
absurdities of this capricious tyranny 
are too numerous to mention. In 
contemplation of these, man must 
grow weary of himself, or cry aloud 
for the hand of reformation. Could 
we assume the character of an advi- 
ser, we would say to ew&ry one : — 
" think and act for yourself." Do 
not fear the multitude's verdict. — 
You are conquered when you hesitate 
to do right, and destroyed when you 
tremble at its consequences. Elevate 
your thoughts to a higher standard, 
and know always that 

" A man can bear 
A world's contempt when he has that within 
Which says he 's worthy — when he contemns himself, 
Then burns the hell." 

Judge Gaston. 

We are not aware that the let- 
ter of Judge Gaston, which we 
give below, has even been published 
in North Carolina. To give any 
sentiment the sanction of his venera- 
ted name is to give it authority and 
perpetual weight among us ; and we 
are glad to present to our readers, 
the youthful ones especially, the sen- 
timents of that good and great man, 
on a subject of so deep interest to all, 
as are the conditions of Professional 
Success. That he acted on the views 
of life and duty that are sketched in 

this letter, it is useless to say. That 
an adherence to them is like to lead 
to fame and fortune, the experience 
of the young man to whom they were 
addressed is enough to show. The 
letter was written to John L. T. 
Sneed, the present Attorney Gener- 
al of Tennessee, and Beporter for 
that State, whose several volumes of 
Law Beports give proof enough how 
well he profits by the suggestions of 
his wise adviser. 

We can not forbear to ask why it 
is that no competent Biography of 
Judge Gaston has yet been given to 
the public. No man of this century 
has had so high and pure a fame a- 
mong his own people, and no North 
Carolinian has won so enviable a 
National reputation as he. It is a sort 
of treason to posterity to deprive it 
of so excellent an example, or to al- 
low to survive only the fragments 
which tradition gathers up, instead 
of the complete and ample portra- 
ture which a skillful pen might now 
give to posterity forever. The hon- 
or and interest of the State he loved 
so well demand this. Will not his 
kinsmen and associates, who in an 
especial sense have his fame in their 
keeping, see to it, that the public 
and posterity shall not be defrauded : 

Newbern, March 26, 1842. 

My Dear Sir : — I had the pleasure of receiving a few 
days since your affectionate letter on the 4th of this 
month, and hasten to assure you that I am gratified at 
being named as one of you referees in the card which 
you have caused to be published. 

In your professional and private life I shall always 
take a deep interest. You have entered on a career in 
which diligence can scarcely fail to secure your success. 
Every motive that can bo addressed to a good heart and 
a sound head concurs to impress upon a lawyer, the 



conviction that he owes to his clients the utmost fidel- 
ity. He is charged with the interests of one unable to 
act for himself, and he is faithless to the trust if he 
leaves any honorable moans unexerted to secure and 
advance those interests. There is no mode so sure of 
rising to eminence in the profession as the exact, punc- 
tual, prompt and steady discharge of this duty. In the 
greater, far greater number of cases, in which a lawyer 
is engaged, extraordinary talents are not required ; but 
in all negligence may prove fatally destructive. An es- 
tablished reputation for diligence must therefore com- 
mand employment. No man of eommon sense can be 
willing to confide important concerns to the manage- 
ment of a careless Attorney. 

"Next to dilligence in the discharge of the immediate 
duties which you owe to your client, is the obligation 
of endeavoring to perfect yourself in the knowledge of 
your profession. Suffer no day to pass without study, 
Eead slowly — make what you read your own by evisce- 
rating the principles on which the doctrine rests. It is 
impossible to charge the memory with a vast number 
of merely arbitrary distinctions ; but the principles on 
which they rest are few, and these may be faithfully 

"In making these suggestions, I am not so much in- 
fluenced by the belief that you need them, as by a de- 
sire to show that I am disposed to aid you in any way I 
can. To give counsel is to assume the office of a friend, 
and that office is ono which towards you I shall always 
be happy to discharge. 

* * * * * * 

With great esteem and affection, 
Truly Your's. 


The Late Dr. Mitchell. 

The Eev Elisha Mitchell, D. D., 
was bom in Washington, Litchfield 
Co., Conn., August 19th 1793 — gra- 
duated at Yale College in 1813, — 
appointed Professor of Mathematics 
and Natural Philosophy in the Uni- 
versity of North Carolina in 1817 — 
married in 1819 — Ordained by the 
Presbytery of Orange in 1821— trans- 
ferred to be Professor of Chemistry, 
Mineralogy and Geology m 1825 — 
honored with the Doctorship in Di- 
vinity by the University of Alabama 
jn 1840, and appointed Bursar of the 

University of North Carolina in 1835. 
He died June 27th 1857." 

The above is an epitome of the life 
of one whose sudden death has so 
sadly afflicted us all. In contempla- 
tion of the greatness of our loss, we 
feel a grief that seems to grow deep- 
er and deeper • and, though we know 
it is an interposition of an all-wise 
Providence, "whose end man seeth 
not," we cannot find resignation. — 
The loss of Dr. Mitchell has occa- 
sioned general sorrow. It is confin- 
ed to no age, no sex, no condition. 
The old man whose head is whitened 
by the frosts of many winters, miss- 
es the support that directed his tot- 
tering steps : the young man, buoy- 
ant with life's brightest hopes, looks 
in vain for the warning and sympa- 
thising friend, and the poor man will 
pass many a miserable hour in the 
rags of wretchedness, ere he meets 
that charity which his hand be- 

The character of Dr. Mitchell is 
too well known to require any infor- 
mation from us concerning it. As 
a Christian, a husband and father, 
citizen, teacher, companion and 
friend, he was well known and ad- 
mired. His mind was gigantic and 
he was learned to a degree truly as- 
tonishing. He seemed fitted for any 
capacity in life, 

-and the elements 

So mixed in him that Nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world,— 'this was a man !' " 

The news of his sudden and tragic 
death has traveled with telegraphic 



speed through the length and breadth 
of our land. The sad tidings that he, 
who had become a veteran in the 
field of scientific labor, like Moses of 
old, had died unseen and alone on the 
top of our highest mountain, has pro- 
duced a thrill in every bosom, and 
hallowed the bleak and rugged sum- 
mit of Mt. Mitchell. 

It will, henceforth, be a spot that 
will call forth mingled associations 
of beauty, goodness and power. Tbe 
beautiful scenery around will call 
forth remembrances of his happy 
connexions in this world and the Ca- 
naan to which his steadfast gaze was 
always directed, while the tall moun- 
tain before us, looming up to Heaven 
in grandeur and majesty, will tell of 
the great light which here was ex- 
tinguished. The mist and gloom 
which hover over its head, cannot 
obscure the place of his rest, for the 
radience of glory will forever linger 
around, brighter — far brighter than 
the noon-day sun. 

Philanthopic Hall, 

July 26th, 1857. 

The members of the Philanthropic 
Society having learned the sudden 
and melancholy death of Eev. Elisha 
Mitchel. the Senior Pofessor in our 
University, to express the feelings 
which this sad event has inspired us 
with, have 

Besolved, That in the death of Dr. 
Mitchel, our University and the 
cause of learning in our Country have 
suffered a great and irreparable loss ; 
that we, his pupils are bereft of a 

most, able, skilful and learned in- 
structor, and separated forever from 
a man whom we admired and a friend 
whom we loved, whose many kind 
offices and wise counsels we shall 
sadly miss. 

Besolved, That we offer our sincere 
and earnest sympathies in this afflic- 
tion, to the family of our deceased 
friend, and to the Eaculty of the U- 
nivvrsity which he served and hon- 
ored so long. 

Resolved, That our Society, of which 
he was a member and whose inter- 
ests he always gladly served, has lost 
a warm and zealous patron and friend 
and that our members wear the badge 
of mourning for the space of thirty 

Besolved, That the Committee pre- 
sent copies of these resolutions to 
the family of Dr, M., and to the Fa- 
culty of the University. 

W. D. GOZA, f oowl 

E. S, J. BELL, J 

Dialectic Hall, 

July 24th 1857. 
Whereas it has pleased Almighty 
God, by a most sudden blow to re- 
move from the midst of our commu- 
nity the Eev. Dr. Elisha Mitchell; 
the Dialectic Society acknowledging 
that the intimacy of his personal, 
and official relations with all of its 
sitting members, demands that it de- 
part from the custom which renders 
such obituary tribute as this, appro- 
priate only to those who have been 



members of its particular organiza- 
tion ; the more especially as Dr, M. 
was eminent among the lovers of 
Virtue and Science. 

Resolved, That this catastrophe, — 
which has caused a shock through all 
the domain of letters, occasioned a 
loss to the University, so great and 
peculiar as to call for the deepest 
sorrow on the part of all who have 
any connection therewith. 

Resolved, That although none of 
us had been privileged to follow our 
late revered Professor along those 
paths of study which were especial- 
ly his own, yet we desire to say that 
we make it a matter of honest pride 
that we were students of the Univer- 
sfty during his era ; that we can re- 
call in after life many circumstances 
of profit and pleasure in our inter- 
course with him ; and record here 
our obligations to him for that high 
example that the much absorbed and 
universal student need not — amidst 
such pursuits, divest himself of those 
homely yet noble qualities that make 
the benevolent and public spirited 
citizen, the courageous magistrate, 
and the humble and sincere christi- 
an — that the youth not only of the 
State, but of the country, while in 
years long yet to come, remember 
him as one who guided the footsteps 
of their fathers amid many rugged 
paths in the search of knowledge, — 
and truth, and even by them will his 
name be recorded with those of 
the great benefactors of his race. 

Resolved, That upon the loss of this 
their so distinguished member, we 
tender our condolence to our breth- 
ren of the Philanthropic Society, and 
pledge ourselves to co-operate with 
them in such mannner for erecting a 
prominent memorial of our respect 
and gratitude as may be deemed suit- 

Resolved, That a copy of these res- 
solutions be filed in the Archives of 

our body and one sent to the bereav- 
ed family of the deceased as the last 
sad tribute of our respect for his me- 

Resolved, That we also will wear 
upon our left arm the usual badge 
of mourning for the space of thirty 


J.G.MOEEHEAD,jr., \- Com. 


Council Chamber, 
July, 13th, 1857. 
Whereas, it has pleased our Heav- 
enly Father, in whose hands alone 
are the issues of life and death, to 
call from among us our venerable 
and well beloved fellow-member, the 

Resolved, That while we bow with 
humble submission to the decree of 
the Supreme Governor of all things, 
we shall ever cherish iu our hearts 
those sentiments of esteem and 
friendship with which his life ?^d 
character have impressed us. 

Resolved, That in his death the 
Commissioners and community of 
the village of Chapel Hill have sus- 
tained an irreparable loss. 

Resolved, That we most sincerely 
sympathise with his bereaved family 
in their trouble and distress. 

Resolved, That these Eesolutions 
be spread upon the Journals of the 
Village ; that a copy be sent to the 
family of the deceased, also to the 
Chapel Hill Gazette and the Univer- 
sity Magazine, with the request for 

P. H. McDade, ] 
H. B. Guthrie, I „ 
J. H. Watson, r 
C. C. Scott. J 
W. H. McDade, T. Cl'k. 


^m.mcj-«3--«CJ-S5B'3B^ »n»«fci«r«, 



1 . The Life and Times of Kichard Caswell. ......... 1 

2. Poetical Works of Philo Henderson ,28 

8. The Printing Pr*as '.'. 25 

4. Squire Wilk©rson's Speech on the "Crisis."...,. T8 

5. Editorial Table... 32 

6. Tribute of Eespect — Philanthropic Society,,,. 39 

7. « " Dialectic Society,., 89 

8. " « Town Council,. -40 

The Magazine is published about the tenth of every 
month except January and July. 

Terms $2 per annum, invariably in Advance. Any 
person sending us five new subscribers and ten dollars, 
will receive a copy gratis. 



% mi 






W. C. LORD, 

E. S. BELL, 



NO. % 


We are emphatically a progressive 
people. No on e who travels or takes 
the papers, will be at all disposed to 
deny that fact. But, while most per- 
sons are ready enough to concede 
our rapid advancement in the vari- 
ous arts and sciences, they are too 
apt to overlook the progress, which 
is daily made in other things, which, 
though they have no claim to be put 
in the same category with Eailroads, 
Submarine Telegraphs, et hoc genus 
omne, are yet of considerable impor- 
tance. The columns of every paper 
in the country are filled with the 
evidences of the progress which the 
" lords of creation " are making, — 

while the claims of the fairer portion 
of our race to a share in this notice 
are altogether ignored,and their light 
is suffered to remain hid under a 
bushel, for the want of some kind 
hand to remove the envious obstruc- 
tion. And yet they are no laggards 
in the race of improvement. Their 
Woman's Eights Conventions and 
things of that kind are indeed now 
looked upon as exploded humbugs' 
but their advancement in matters 
pertaining to their own peculiar 
sphere of action is certainlynot less, 
and is perhaps even greater than 
that which has been made in any o- 
ther branch of science 01 art. Be 



mine then the glorious task of bring- 
ing their claims before your readers, 
and of endeavoring to obtain for them 
the share of notice in this iron age, 
to which their distinguished talents 
and indomitable energy in my opin- 
ion fully entitle them. And though 
I could have wished that the task 
had devolved upon some one more 
capable of doing the subject justice, 
yet I say boldly and without fear 
of contradiction, that the sex could 
not have found an advocate who has 
a more chivalric regard for them, or 
would prosecute their cause with 
more zeal, than the writer of this ar- 
ticle. If I succeed in causing an act 
of simple justice to be done to the 
long neglected individuals,! shall feel 
that my humble effort is more than 
repaid ; and if on the other hand I 
shall fail in the accomplishment of 
the task, which I have voluntarily 
imposed upon myself, I shall at least 
have the consolation of knowing 
that justice and right are on my 

As I have previously mentioned, 
the claims of the sex to the notice 
which is asked for them are found- 
ed upon their distinguished talents 
and indomitable energy. Could any 
claim have a better foundation ? In 
proof of this alleged talent, 1 have 
only to adduce the astonishing per- 
fection to which they have, by their 
own unaided efforts, succeeded in 
bringing the art of husband hunting. 
Be not shocked fair reader — hold not 
tip your lovely hands in holy horror 

— curl not your ruby lip in scorn at 
the profane wretch who dares to 
charge you with a practice so utter- 
ly repugnant to all true refinement 
and modesty, the peculiar attributes 
of your sex. Bear with me for a lit- 
tle while, and if I make not the 
charge good — aye, even in your own 
judgment warped by education as it 
is — then I will cheerfully submit to 
the doom, which shall be pronounc- 
ed upon me by any twelve maidens 
of this land duly empanneled to try 
the cause. I say husband hunting, 
and I use the word advisedly — as 
the result of observation and experi- 
ence during a life, which, though it 
has not yet reached the completion 
of its sixth lustrum has been rather 
profusely supplied with oportunities 
for arriving at a just conclusion in 
this matter. The exploits of some 
of our fair friends in this modern 
sport, entirely unknown to our fore- 
fathers and never dreamed of by our 
fore mothers, are of such a charac- 
ter as to be quite worthy of chroni- 
cling. Indeed, the wonderful feats 
of a Girard or a dimming among the 
lions of Africa would be entirely e- 
clipsed and thrown into the shade by 
an account of the doughty deeds of 
some of our fine ladies among the 
lions of our fashionable circles.. — 
These heroes would find themselves 
equaled in courage and perseverance 
and far surpassed in sagacity by ma- 
ny a Miss of scarce fifteen summers, 
while those who have had the bene- 
fits of a more extended field and *» 



longer experience would think it no 
compliment to be placed in the same 
category with them. The keen 
scent of the pointer — the quick vis- 
ion and swift foot of the grey-hound 
— and the dogged perseverance of the 
blood-hound all find a parallel in 
the manner in which managing 
mammas hunt out and run down 
rich husbands for teeir no less man- 
aging daughters — for, thanks to their 
perfect training, these young ladies 
are quite able to manage for them- 
selves by the time they arrive at the 
age of maturity, and even before 
that time, and ever quite ready to 
follow in the path which they have 
been taught both by practice and ex- 
ample to be the right one. I say 
husband hunting — and yet perhaps 
husband fishing would be more ap- 
propaiate. For their manner of pro- 
ceeding bears a strange likeness to 
that of the patient untiring fisherman, 
than to that of the bold huntsman. 
Indeed, no disciple of Walton, how- 
ever skillful could display more tact 
in the adaptation of his bait, or more 
exemplary patience in waiting for a 
nibble, than thesel\f ammas aforesaid, 
and I am confident that no bait 
known to fishermen, ever showed so 
strong a desire to be bitten, as the 
fair bait with which they angle. — 
Like all good fishermen, they study 
the habits of the fish they wish to 
take, (CroM-fish,) so that they may 
know how to approach him, and 
what bait may be used with most 
advantage at different times. Is our 

fish moody and out of spirits ? Does 
he betake himself to the deep cool 
pools and shun the society of his fel- 
low, as if oppressed with some hid- 
den grief? Then our skillful angler 
throws out the bait of gentle sympa- 
thy, and softly draws it aeross the 
still water, till he is tempted to rise 
to it, Does he disport among the 
minnows and leap from the water in 
the exuberance of his glee ? Alas ! 
there is still a bait for him. Is he 
inclined to be literary ? Miss sud- 
denly becomes a very book-worm. — 
Is he fond of horses. Tom would 
think she had been raised in a sta- 
ble to hear her talk. Is he given to 
the fine arts ? Does she not paint 
beautifully and sing divinely ? Let 
him but waltz once or twice and his 
fate is sealed. A touch of her soft 
hand — a glance of her bright eye 
smiling in voluptuous languor — the 
gentle trembling pressure of her 
rounded arm, resting in such inno- 
cent confidence upon his shoulder, as 
they whirl around the room — bah ! 
the hook is already in his jaws. 

No doubt all this sounds very im- 
polite, but 1 appeal to any man who 
has seen anything of life, if it is not 
too true to be at all poetical. O my 
friend and fellow-sufferer in this vale 
of tears, did you ever in your life see 
anything so curious, monstrous and 
amazing, as the way in which wo- 
men court Dives, and pursue him 
with their daughters ? If you have 
ever had the matter presented to 
you in its most striking light, thro' 



the medium of your own personal ex- 
perience, as I have done,, you will 
certainly agree with me in saying 
that wealth is the only "open sesame" 
to a woman's, heart at the present 
day. Cupid may as well give up his 
bow and arrow to Plutus. In truth 
I do not know anything more com- 
fortable and inspiriting^ that the po- 
sition of a poor devil' who has been 
paying his addresses to one of our 
fine ladies, when a regular swell cuts 
in with five or ten thousand dollars 
a year. "We fancy we have, been 
playing,- the mischief, and are san- 
guine of success, when suddenly we 
find ourselves nowhere in the race. 
Miss Mary, or Miss Lucy or Miss 
Sallie will no more look at us than 
my dog will look at bread, wheii. I 
offer her meat. 1ST' est ce pas my 
suffering innocent ? It is pleasant 
to have you for a beau — a beau is a 
sine qua. non— she must have some 
one to pick up her handkerchief — 
carry her bouquet — hand her into 
her carriage, escort her to balls and 
concerts, &c, why not you as, well -as 
any one ? But then it is expected 
that you will not be so unreasonable 
as to object to being ridiculed or 
even receiving the cut direct, if a 
wealthy and fashionable young man 
should happen to look at her twice. 
Your attentions gratify her vanity ; 
she cannot afford to dispense with 
them altogether. You are hand- 
some and agreeable — you have the 
entree* into good society — perhaps 
she even goes so far as to like you, 

but marry you ! No ; Miss has beer 
too well trained to commit such a 
faux pas as that. You may have 
talents of the most brilliant order, 
but if they be not talents of gold 01 
silver, they will not pass in that 

It is not, however, of the art itself 
that I wish to speak chiefly, but ra- 
ther of its effects upon the sex — its 
influence in forming or rather in Re- 
forming their minds and manners. 
It seems to me that it requires no 
gift of prophecy to foresee what 
must be the ultimate effect of a sys- 
tem of education, which sets out 
with the datum, that to obtain a rich 
husband is the summum bonum of a 
girl's existence — the great end for 
which she was born. To bring about 
this consummation so devoutly wish- 
ed for, she is taught from her earli- 
est infancy, that no sacrifice is too 
great. It is to purchase this that 
she is endowed with beauty — it is 
for this that neither trouble nor ex- 
pense has been spared to teach her 
the fashionable accomplishments j it 
is, for this that mamma is so partic- 
ular about her dress — so careful of 
her complexion — so anxious about 
her health. She is early taught 
that her smiles and glances are too 
precious to be wasted, and she meas- 
ures them out by rule of proportion, 
which, by the way, is nearly all the 
Arithmetic she is ever taught — at 
your income, so shall my affability 
be. So that if a man's income is 
given, you may calculate with math- 



ematical certainty upon the amount 
of favor he will receive. In short, 
to use the words of one of the great- 
est novelists of this or any other age, 
her creed is : "I helieve in elder 
eons, a house in town and a house in 
the country/' I believe in a coach 
and six, diamonds, a box at the ope- 
ra, point de Bruxelles lace, crinoline, 
&c. Her fidelity to her ereed is wor- 
thy of imitation by some of our 
professing christians. No natural 
emotions, none of the finer feelings 
find a place in such a system, neither 
would they flourish in such arid soil 
if planted there ; they would wither 
and die for want of sustenance and 
culture. Such is the system and the 
results are just such as any reasona- 
ble man would expect from such a 
beginning. Thanks to this cramp- 
ing process, to which they are sub- 
jected day by day and year by year, 
the minds of most young ladies lose 
their elasticity altogether, and by 
the time they arrive at the age for 
"turning out," as the phrase goes, — 
(it should be trotted out,) they are 
quite as artificial as the most exact- 
ing parent could desire. Like the 
Chinese women, whose feet are so 
cramped from infancy, that they be- 
come utterly useless for walking, — 
the minds of most of our young la- 
dies are so contracted, that it would 
be a difficult matter to determine 
whether they ever had any. 

We are told in the good book, — 
that God made the woman a " help- 
meat for man," that is, suited to him. 

Now I would be pleased to know in 
what way a woman brought up in 
the way we have just mentioned, — 
and which is by no means uncom- 
mon, would be a help to any man— 
unless to help him spend his money) 
for which most of them show a very 
decided talent, and for which, indeed 
their previous training peculiarly fits 
them. But the Bible is too slow & 
book for this fast age, and we can- 
not with reason expect Young Amer- 
ica to be guided by rules which were 
made for those slow old coaches 
Messrs. Noah, Abraham, &c. 

When we look abroad and see to 
what a height of prosperity we have 
attained as a nation, we are apt to 
wrap ourselves in self complacency, 
and look down with some Contempt 
upon our less favored neighbors.-— 
Like the Assyrian King of old, our 
breasts swell with pride and we ex- 
claim : "Is not this great Babylon 
that I have built V We spread our 
peacock tails to the sufi, and stand 
and gaze in silent admiration upon 
their gorgeous splender, forgetting 
at the same time, that there may be 
some points about us, as little wor- 
thy of admiration as the unmusical 
squeak and ricketty strut of the a- 
forementioned noble bird. Take for 
example our friends the Turks upon 
whom we are accustomed to look as 
little better than barbarians, and we 
shall find, upon close examination, 
more similarity between their no- 
tions of the manner in which women 
should be educated, and that whicq 



obtains in even our most fashionable 
circles, than the exquisitely fastidi- 
ous members of the latter would be 
willing to admit. I do not mean 
that the course of instruction is pre- 
cisely the same, but the great end 
for which the education is given is 
the same in both cases. We are told 
that when there is a beauty in a well 
regulated Georgian family, they fat- 
ten her, they feed her on the best 
Bacahout des Arabs, they give her 
silk robes and perfumed baths, they 
have her taught to play on the dul- 
cimer and dance and sing, and when 
she is quite perfect, they send her 
down to Constantinople for the Sul- 
tan's inspection. The rest of the 
family never think of grumbling, — 
but eat coarse meat, bathe in the 
river, wear old clothes and praise 
Allah for their sister's elevation. — 
My dear reader, does not the Turk- 
ish system obtain all the world over, 
more or less ? Can you not find, — 
within the range of your acquaint- 
ance, at least one family of whom 
this picture might pass as a portrait? 
Have you not seen the heads of fa- 
milies pinching themselves and their 
other children to give some favored 
one an education beyond their means 
that she may marry well as they call 
it ? Have you not been witness in 
your own country to a bargain and 
sale quite as flagrant, as any that 
was ever transacted in the slave 
market of Constantinople ? Do you 
suppose that these things don't take 
place here ? My innocent friead. 

without going fifty miles from the 
place where I now sit, I could cite 
you to an instance, where the thing 
was done in open day, in the middle 
of the XIX Century, where the love- 
ly bride was forced into the arms of 
a man whom she loathed — where the 
agonizing screams of the helpless 
victim were unheard amid the musi- 
cal chink of the bridegroom's dollars. 
This case is an exception, I admit, 
for in most cases the victim is any- 
thing but unwilling. "We are some- 
what in advance of our Moslem 
friends as to the manner of closing 
the bargain. His Serene Highness 
cuts the matter short by paying over 
the number of purses demanded, and 
there the matter ends greatly to the 
satisfaction of all the parties concer- 
ned. We on the other hand, call in 
a priest to pray over and bless the 
contract, which is none the less a 
sale for all that. 

Our ladies too, are very far ahead 
of their Circassian sisters. There is 
no instance on record of a Georgian 
having sold herself, but in our coun- 
try it is by no means uncommon for 
the lady to conclude the bargain 
for herself — indeed I believe it is 
usually the case. Proh Pudor / Such 
is the extent to which this mammon 
worship is carried. Truly, " Charity 
covereth a multitude of sins," but 
money hideth them much more ef- 
fectually. Dissipation of the very 
worst kind and an empty head-aye, 
even disease itself is considered as 
no drawback, if the bridegroom elect; 



has metallic attractions sufficient. 

Such is the manner in which most 
of our young ladies are brought up, 
those who are intended to be the 
wives of American youth — sad are 
the motives of action set befor them 
by those who are their proper guar- 
dians and instruetors-who ought to 
know better — who do know better, 
and who wilfully shut their eyes to 
consequences and think, forsooth, — 
that these consequences will not in- 
evitably follow : as the ostrich sticks 
his head in the sand of the desert, 
and thinks he cannot be seen, be- 
cause he cannot see. Cannot any 
one see that such a system must of 
necessity be anything but beneficial? 
Like the deadly Upas tree, its influ- 
ence poisons and withers every nat- 
ural emotion — dries up the very pu- 
rest feelings of our nature — the few 
god-like traits which the fall has left 
us, and makes the victim a mere 
machine, capable of moving, (aye, 
and gracefully too,) of singing divine- 
ly, of smiling sweetly — of thinking 

But its deleterious influence stops 
not here. It extends to the marri- 
age relation, and brings into con- 
tempt that which ought to be regar- 
ded as the most solemn compact in- 
to which a man can enter. And is 
not this contempt just what every 
reasonable man would expect 1 Can 
we expect men of the world to have 
any respect for the solemn contract 
of marriage, when our clergymen do 
not hesitate to prostitute their sacred j 

calling so far as to pronounce the 
Apostolic benediction upon a bargain 
and sale ? Of this levity with which 
men look upon marriage, we have 
abundant proof in the " elopements 
in high life," and the numerous ap- 
plications for divorce, and the readi- 
ness with which they are granted. 
Of these I do not care now to speak, 
bat pass on to say a few words of 
one of one of the results of husband 
hunting which in my opinion, is of 
itself, enough to damn it forever. I 
allude to "marriages of convenience" 
as they are termed in polite parlance. 
Truly, they might in many cases be 
called with more justice, " marriages 
of inconvenience." These marriages 
of convenience-a term fit only for 
the mouth of a libertine or a fool, are 
the legitimate result of the art of 
which we are speaking. And here; 
again we may not flatter ourselves 
that we are ahead of our neighbors, 
as yet we are but novices and may 
hide our diminished heads in com- 
parison with our French friends, 
though the rate at which we are ad- 
vancing gives fair promise that we 
shall shortly outstrip even them. It 
is in France that the sweet christian 
institution of marriage de convenatice 
is carried to the highest pitch of per- 
feetion, and it is there that we may 
look to find its legitimate effect upon 
the manners ?«nd morals of its follow- 
ers. The French newspapers an- 
nounce that M. de Foy has a bureau 
de cdnfiance, where parents and guar- 
dians may arrange marriages for 



their children or wards with perfect 
security." It is only a question of 
money on the one side and on the 
other. Mademoiselle has so many 
francs of dower — Monsieur has such 
and such rents or lands in possession 
or reversion — a store with a custom 
bringing him such and such an in- 
come, whic'i may be doubled by the 
addition of so much capital, and the 
pretty little matrimonial arrange- 
ment is concluded or broken off, the 
agent touches his percentage-nobo- 
dy is unhappy and the world is none 
the wiser ! All this is very nice and 
business like in theory, but the con- 
sequences may not be so pleasant. — 
If French novels are a picture of 
French life, and if French morality is 
a fair criterion by which to judge of 
the effects of the system, we may 
congratulate ourselves that we are 
yet in our novitiate and pray that 
we may not advance any further. — 
But if we persist in following the 
system with such a warning before 
us, why in the name of sense let us 
go the "whole hog" at once, and ei- 
ther adopt the French plan entire, 
or else strike out something new for 
ourselves. Suppose, for instance, we 
should require that every young la- 
dy when she turns out should have a 
ticket attached to her with her price 
marked on it. It would save a vatt 
deol of trouble and vexation, both to 
mammas and the beaux. A man 
then could look at the ticket and if 
he could afford to give the price, — 
well, if not, he need not subject 

himself to the mortification of a re- 
fusal. In case the young lady was 
previously disposed of, we could 
write the word " sold " in one cor- 
ner of the ticket, which would be 
warning sufficient. If the ladies 
were not disposed of in good time, 
we could do as the merchants do, 
and sell off the old stock at auction 
to the highest bidder. This would 
give bachelors of moderate means 
an opportunity of purchasing an el- 
egant wife at a reduced price, and 
would, I think, be a very decided 
improvemeut upon the present way 
of transacting the business. 

As matters now stand, marriage is 
a luxury which is of necessity con- 
fined to those who are comparatively 
rich. And if the present state of 
things continues, we may look for 
a large and continually increasing 
stock of old bachelors and old maids, 
in the upper classes of society, which, 
as every one knows, is a state of 
things not at all desirable, and would, 
in fact be a great draw-back to our 
prosperity and advancement as a na- 

And uow, dear reader, one word 
of apology before we part. I know 
it must hurt your feelings to think 
that your sweetheart, who is the ve- 
ry apple of your eye — the core of 
your heart, is being trotted up and 
down on exhibition in the market of 
this world, to be knocked down at 
last to the highest bidder. But, — 
(thank God !) there are some excep- 
tions to the rules we have laid down 



— some true women, who do honor 
to their sex and perhaps she is one 
of these. If you choose to think so, 
I for one should be exceedingly loth 
to disturb your pleasant dream. — 
Dream on, and may you never wake 
te find it but a dream. 

In concluding this article, I shall 
take the liberty of giving some ad- 
vice to those of my young friends of 
comparatively moderate means, who 
are bent upon trying their luck in 
spite of all the warnings they have 
received. I have no doubt that this 
advice will be received as all such ad- 
vice usually is, but I shall give it ne- 
vertheless, and if I succeed in saving 
one poor soul from shipwreck on the 
barren rock upon which I split, I 
shall feel that I have suffered not al- 
together in vain. As the advice is 
given in better lauguage than any I 
eould use, I take the liberty of quo- 
ting :— 

" Young Love but seldom asked advice, 

And when he asked but seldom took it ; 
But he 'd been humbled once or twice. 

And his proud spirit could not brook It. 
So he got wisdom to impart 

His care and council for all weathers, 
Which was — to seek no maiden's heart, 

Until he 'd richly gilt his feathers, 

"Love smiled : — and soon his pinions bore 
A golden blaze of beauty round him ; 

And maids who scorned young love before, 
Now full of grace and sweetness found him. 

Such taste — such spirits — such delight — 
A wing to warm the worst of weathers — 

'Ha ! ha! ' laughed Love, 'but Wisdom's right, 
There's naught like gilding well one's feathers !' " 

My friend and fellow pilgrim over 
Jordon, that road so hard to travel, 
wouldst thou have thy friends greet 
thee kindly and thine enemies fear 

thee ? Then put money in thy 
purse. Wouldst thou win thy heart's 
darling — the light of thine eyes — the 
life of thy life ? Put money in thy 
purse. Wouldst thou have those 
bright eyes grow brighter, that beau- 
tiful face flush at thy approieh, that 
musical voice falter with emotion, as 
she bids thee welcome ? Put money 
in thy purse. Thou art agreeable 
and well educated, thou art honest, 
and faithful, and true : thou hast a 
heart brimful and running over with 
love and truth and tenderness for 
her, sayest thou ? And thou think. 
est to win her with that ? Thou 
thrice besotted idiot ! Put Money in 
thy purse ! 'tother coin don't pass in 
this market. 


Tbe Flower lias Fallen. 

On thk Death of Miss M. A. McLsary. 

Catawba's flower lies low in death, 
And Mecklenburg's fair, spotless rose, 

Touched by the stern destroyer's breath 
No longer sweetly, gently blows. 

Apwe, the beautiful, Is dead ! 

Pale is her cheek, dim her blue eye, 
Her gentle, sinless spirit fled, 

To sunny realms beyond the sky. 

Daughters of beauty, for her weep I 
And let your hearts dissolve in tears ! 

For long will be her silent sleep 
Through Time's dim, weary, unborn years. 

Along Catawba's murmuring shore, 
Her voice will never ring again, 

Her form will press the flowers no more, 
Where it so oft hath sleeping lain 



Her waving hair, her sunny face, 

Her blue, unfathomed eye, 
ner low, sweet voice and form of grace — 

Oh I why so early doomed to die ? 

Her spirit's pure and holy ray, 
Up the eternal vault doth rise, 

And brightly, evermore 'twill play, 
Beyond the starry vaulted skies. 

Onward shall be its upward flight, 
High o'er the boundaries of time, 

To that far world of deathless light, 
" Where all is endless and sublime ;" 

And live by the eternal stream, 

And neither weep, nor mourn, nor sigh, 
But bask in Heaven's immortal beam, 

"Forgetting what it was to die." 

Fair bloom the flowers above her grave, 
Light rest the turf upon her breast, 

And softly let the willows wave, 
Where she is taking her last rest I 

Elleglac Verses. 

Upon thb Diath of Miss M. A. McLkart. 

•' Lay her in the earth ; 

And from her pure and unpoluted flesh 
May violets spring." Hamlet. 

" Like one who draws the drapery of his couch 
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams." 

" How peaceful and how powerful is the grave." 


Oh 1 knew ye fair Ada ? the flower so fair 
That bloomed near a stream whose murmuring flow, 
Oft mingled its music, borne sweet on the air, 
With the tones of her voice, soft, gentle and low : 
The stream murmurs on, but that voice no more, 
Shall melt into echo along its green shore 1 

Oh ! know ye fair Ada 1 the fresh fragrant flower, 
Whose -smile scatters insence o'er lea and thro' grove 
A smile whose pure brightness o'er hall or in bower, 
Now gladdened the heart and now kindled to love ; 
The grove — it is desolate — lonely the hall ! 
Mute mem'ry alone that sweet smile will recall. 

Oh ! knew ye fair Ada ? whose cheek would outvie, 
The rose of the Garden of Gull in its bloom : 
Who had a mild, heavenly light in her eye, 
Like sunlight on lillies in richest perfume ; 

That cheek is blanched white as the marble above — 
That eye beams no more with the lightning of love. 

Oh ! knew ye fair Ada f whose heart was imprest 
With the purest and holiest beams from the sky ; 
Who nurtured no evil, no ill in her breast, 
But o'er ill and o'er evil to others would sigh : 
That heart beats no more, its currents are still, 
It leaps not to pleasure, it throbs not to ill. 

Oh ! long will her sisters mourn over her grave, 

Their tears water flowers that from it shall spring, 

And above, where the cypress and willow shall wave, 

Shall the bird mid their branches this requiem sing :— 

" Ada, the bright the beautiful 's flown 

Where tears, and grief and the grave is unknown, 

Ada, an angel on light wings shall soar 

O'er fair flowers fudeless that bloom evermore." 

The Rose of Mecklenburg. 

Thi sweet rose of Persia, in the vale of Cashmere, 
To the Nightengale's song is entrancingly dear, 
When the murmuring breeze on its soft dewy wings, 
That rose's perfume to the nightingale brings ; 

Weeps not and smiles not on its fair fragile stem- 
When the sweet bird of song chaunts his soft veBper 

So sadly or sweetly as Mecklenburg's rose, 
When her heart's gentle leaves to affection unclose. 

For her heart like the harp's melting tremulous strings, 
When Summer's breath roves with its soft whisperings 
To the glad song of pleasure in music replies, 
O'er the sad tale of sorrow as mournfully sighs. 

The deep caves of ocean bear no such a pearl, 
Where the meremaid with shells decks each golden ho- 
ed curl, 
And Night, in her dark hair, twines not such a gem, 
When she binds round her tresses her bright diadem. 

The language which angels commune with above, 
On its pure leaves is written in letters of love ; 
And the spirits Elysian sleep tranquilly there, 
When they come from the land of the sinless and fair. 

The valley's sweet lillies, the rose of the hills, 
Unheeded may bloom by the murmuring rills, 
So spotless and pure is that beautiful rose, 
So holy the spirit its leaflets unclose, 

The children of song may with nightengales vie, 
And chant their love strains beneath twilight's soft sky, 
To that pure gentle flower — the fair vale of Cashmer#, 
In its gardens of roses contains not its peer. 



For the pnre-hearted, sunny-browed, silv'ry voiced maid, 
When she lists to her lover's fond tale in the shade 
Of soft dewy evening is the sweetest in bloom 
Of the flowers that shed in Time's vale their perfume. 

A Fragment. 

Whate'br thy sorrows be, in them I'll share, 
And in thy thoughts participate, for they 
A joy diviner to my heart would bring, 
Than all the flattering smiles and honied words 
Of that gay world that lives but to deceive. 

While others thread the merry dance, 
To music's joyous and enlivening strains, 
And gaily spend the pleasure-winged hours, 
Botha, with thee I'd wander forth alone, 
Beneath the forest's dark and solemn shade, 
And talk with thee of spirit lands and climes 
Of heavenly dreams ; of holy thoughts that rise 
To that far world — the blue home of the stars. 
And when the Bounds of thy sweet voice would swell 
tike angel anthems on the sighing air, 
And blend harmoniously with murmured songs 
Of the clear, beautiful and shady streams, 
Then would the gloom pass from my darkened soul 
And my sad heart be lighted up with hope, 
And many a bright and glorious vision beam 
Tar down the misty vale of coming years. 
No sound save nature's voice and thine 
Would steal into my heart and overflow 
My soul with feelings far more heavenly 
Than all that mortal minstrelsy can yield. 

JAlthough the young, the beautiful, the fair, 
Spend life's gay Spring in revelry and mirth, 
8weet Botha, still be thou the same — remain 
Wrapt in thy pensive thoughts of heavenly hue,- 
They give to thee a beauty not of earth, 
A brightness that belongs to better worlds— 
A calm sweet look which angels wear, 
Tor thy blue, tender, timid, winning eye 
Is lovelier than a sad autumnal star, 
When beaming on some calm and tranquil sea, 
And holier in its light than mem'ry's beams 
When sleeping on the grave of buried love. 
And the sweet rapt expression of thy face 
Is like an angel's o'er a dying saint, 
For it has sprung from gentle, sinless thoughts, 
In pensive, melaneholly order set : 

Pride breakfasted witn Plenty, 
dined with Poverty, and supped with 

Sayings and Doings at Our Club. 


Gillie. — Put down your book, — 
Mort., and talk some. Just back to 
college, and nothing to say about va- 
cation ? Wake up, man ! wake up 
— by the way, what are you reading 
so lovingly ? 

Mort. Some of the Ettrick Shep- 
herd's songs, Gillie. I'm no musici- 
an, but do wish I could breathe out 
the feelings I experience in corres- 
ponding melody ; I had forgotten 
you were here, and was just about 
to sing a chorus when you spoke. 

Gil. You do very right in feeling 
the spirit of music, but don't try to 
give it expression ; your voice is 
none of the best, as any one can say 
who has ever heard you roar " Vive 
L'amour," the only piece, I believe 
that you attempt to execute. 

Mort. Music is woefully neglect- 
ed here ; some look on it with con- 
tempt, as something that will do ve- 
ry well in the nursery and for the 
religiosi, and others seem to think 
that the art is of too little value to 
take the pains to acquire it. 

Gil. One reason why we have so 
few College songs that we can call 
our own. 

MorT. And those few are rather 
indifferent ones. 

Gil. Yes, mostly poor parodies 
on outlandish verses, intolerable ex- 
cept at a distance, and sung in tho 
open air. 



Mort. Yet they sometimes have 
a peculiar charm for me ; when I 
have been walking in the Campus 
late at night, and the lights were all 
out except in the rooms of one or 
two ambitious students, and the full 
moon was pouring a flood of white 
light upon the grounds and buildings 
and '■ old South " had exchanged its 
stained and brownish color for that 
of marble, and the roses along the 
side walks emited sweet fragrance, I 
have heard fragments of these songs, 
caught at intervals from some strag- 
gler in a distant part of the village ; 
I always stop and listen at them. — 

There is a mysterious, indiscriba- 
ble association, that calls up hopes 
and fears, past joys and sorrows, and 
when the singing ceased and I would 
quicken my footsteps towards my 
own room, I would reflect on mis- 
spent time, and how I could redeem 
it and do something worthy of a man. 

Gil. Do not talk so. Pass the 
punch, Mort., and fill up ; abigamus 
curas bibendo. Bottoms : (Bibunt.) 

Mort. Good ; now hand the ci- 

Gil. Drop in another piece of ice. 
What's the mercury ? ninety-five ! 
"What a fine breeze this is ; how it 
fans the hair from the hot temples 
and cools the heated cheeks ; what 
can be more delightful ? Where 
does it come from ? Did the moon 
which you can see above the trees 
through the window there have any 
effect in producing it ? 

Mort. Such theories are not in 

order hei'e; you know the sentiments 
of the members in respect to them. 
Why, can't you look at the yellow 
light that is streaming in so beauti- 
fully yonder, without thinking of its 
nature ? Can you not feel the sweet 
influences of the stars unless you 
know their distances, their periods 
of revolution, if they revolve, etc., 
etc.? Say, when you see a bank of 
flowers must you set to work and 
classify, and when you see a blush 
stealing over a beauty's face, must 
you try to account for it scientifical- 

G. You are too hard on me ; I 
know no more of the soiences than 
yourself, my report was tolerable in 
that branch and 

M. Mine was respect. 

G. Well I was going to say that 
I made the remark because I saw 
the moon and happened to think a- 
bout the tides. I have a heart and 
can enjoy the beauties of Nature as 
much as you, and hate to hear about 
formations and the genus and species 
of trees and plants when I am look- 
ing at a landscape, as sincerely as 
anyone; but let's change the subject ; 
did you attend any dancing parties 
in vacation ? 

M. No, I had two invitations but 
excused myself; I prefer being at 
home, or with a few select friends, 
to the pleasures of a ball-room in 
June. What do you think of danc- 
ing, any way, Gillie ? 

G. My ideas are old fashioned, — 
too much so for the present day I'm 



afraid ; I love the dance in its sim- 
plicity, but have been nauseated by 
various French and German improve- 

M. I agree with you. Where 
can be the sinfulness in a dozen couu- 
try boys after a season of hard labor 
gathering up as many buxom girls 
and passing a winter evening in the 
enjoyment of dancing. Their con- 
versation may not be so refined as 
some of their more polished neigh- 
bors, and their steps may be uncouth, 
but their hearts at least are as tender. 
It is a fine picture to see the young 
ones full of their fun, and the old men 
nodding in calm repose or talking 
out their little store of politics, and 
the grave matrons venturing opin- 
ions and asking questions with the 
deepest interest about things which 
you would have thought could not 
concern them in the least. I see 
nothing inconsistent in a father tak- 
ing down the Bible and gathering 
the family around him after such in- 
nocent merriment. Yet there are 
those who would take away this a- 
musement. Old Sir Eoger took the 
correct view, he held innocent en- 
joyment to be a duty. 

G. We will not discuss the ques- 
tion ; but it does me good to see the 
poor country people put away their 
troubles for awhile and be as happy 
as larks ; next day they will rise 
early and toil until night. 

M. Do you remember Byron's 
"Waltz ?" 

G. Very well, though it hag been 

a long time since I read it. Do you 
know whether it is a popular piece 
or not ? 

M. I am inclined to think not, it 
is too often passed by unnoticed,and 
has to give way to the more enter- 
tertaining and poetic of my lord's 
writings. Suppose you try your 
hand on the same subject ? I think 
it's about time now for another. 

G. 1 think we can say. 

Endearing Waltz ! — to thy more melting tune 
Bow Irish jig and ancient rigadoon ; 
Scotch reels avaunt ! and country dance forego, 
Your future claims to each fantastic toe. 

about now, but for me trying my 
hand on it, pshaw ! say no more a- 
bout it. If Juvenal were alive tho', 
I'd call him to the rescue. What a 
feeling there would be if the"Waltz" 
had just made its appearance. 

M. The old men would shake their 
heads, the ladies call the writer a 
horrid brute and the fops would shoot 
their squibs at him through the peri- 
odicals. Byron had some good ieel- 
ings about him, at least if we 
may judge from this satire. He 
wished if possible to have the 
customs of his country preserved in 
their original simplicity, and to hold 
up to ridicule the apes of foreign 
fashions ; if we only had some one t > 
show up the American ape, but it 
would take an artist, the species is 
so entirely different from any other 
that some have inferred that it be- 
longs to the genus ass. 

G. The old English country dan- 
ces are still kept up ; I would like 
to be present when the family all 



meet together at Christmas round 
the Yule clog, when the wind is roar- 
ing among the oaks and the snow 
drifting about the house. I can im- 
agine the old grandsire as he sits in 
his accustomed seat and listens to 
the happy voices that came from 
hearts brim-full of joy ; as he looks 
on, a tear may gather in his eye but 
it is not of sorrow and is hastily 
brushed away ; and the happy mo- 
ther watching the movement of her 
beautiful daughter, whom her lover 
has led out, and when the music 
ceases and the dancers take their 
seats, I cannot repress a smile when 
the good lady mourns the degenera- 
cy of modern times, and longs for 
the 'days of "Roast beef and ]\ferrie 

M. Just what I was going to say 
Avhen you took the words out of my 
mouth. Compare with this a mod- 
ern ball room. You have seen the 
rush, the worming through the 
crowd, have heard the state of the 
weather and roads for the last week 
accurately discribed, and"first visit," 
"second visit" come from all sides 
beating on your ear ; and then the 
noise, bustle, and above all the shrill 
voice of the master calling out, like 
the shriek of a sea mew in a storm. 

G-. What a figure ! 

M. Never mind the figure. — 
Then there is the crushing of the la- 
dies hoops, the tearing of their dres- 
ses — which they say such and such 
a one did changing the individual's 
name as they changed partners — the 

scramble for the supper, glasses and 
wine bottles broken, silks and spike 
tails ruined, and universal hubbub. 
But one character I had almost for- 
gotton, the lion of the evening. His 
face is pretty, his hands small and 
white, his fingers slender and taper- 
ing, and his hair arranged a la mode, 
He is exquisitely dressed ; a pair of 
elegant cassimers closely fitted,show 
the full proportions of a leg which is 
his pride and chief joy ; the cut of 
his coat, his small tight slippers and 
white silk hose, his rich vest and ex- 
quisite tie please the critical observ- 
ers. The ladies' eyes follow him a- 
bout the room, and he, conscious of 
being the object of their admiration 
moves carelessly and languidly along, 
drawing up his gloves or re-arrang- 
ing his delectable tresses. Now he 
joins a group of ladies and enraptures 
them with the brilliancy of his con- 
versation ; pronounces Thackary a 
twadderaboutrights and Dickensbut 
little better ; can see nothing remar- 
kable in Irving, but admits the ex- 
cellence of Shakespeare. Then he 
launches into poetry and Heaven 
knows what. None of his sayings 
are derived from reflection — he ne- 
ver read the books he speaks of and 
if he did could hardly understand — 
but are pitched up promiscuously, — 
here a little and there a little, and 
whether the auhority is reliable or 
not makes no sort of difference. — 
Sometimes he makes sad mistakes. 
He happened to hear some one speak- 
ing of Beaumont and Fletchers works, 



and that evening at the party asked 
a lady if she remembered who trans- 
lated Beaurnontainfletcher's works 
from the French. Then he compar- 
ed the French language with the En- 
glish and so he went on. When he 
left, it was amusing to hear the re- 
mark of the ladies : "Oh what an 
inquiring mind ;" "0, what exten- 
sive information," "He is the most 
polished gentleman I ever met with," 
says one," What an intelligent couu- 
tenance," exclaims another, and, — 
" What expressive eyes," rejoins a 
third. But let's watch him home 
from the ball ; he takes charge of 
the most beautiful lady, I will not 
overhear their conversation for I am 
sceptical enough now ; but see him 
in his room after the labors of the 
evening; his chair is thrown back at 
a small angle and his feet most grace- 
fully situated on the window sill, he 
has slightly inclined his beaver crown- i 
ed head to one sill and is smoking a | 
cheroot which he holds between his 
thumb and third fingei*, leaving the 
ashes to be knocked off with his 
smaller digit. He is buried in a pro- 
found meditation. 

G. About what ? 

M. Why, which of the fashiona- 
ble perfumes he shall use for the 
next ball, or whether Simpkins or 
Muggins, boot makers, put up the 
more elegant job. 

G. Or whether he shall adopt 
the new method of hair dressing. 

M. Or wear his pink or dun col- 
ored socks next time, but — ah ! here 

comes the Domme — {enter Domine, 

" Look again and look exulting." 

G. Punch ho ! 

M. Fill iip, fill up, brimmers ; all 
ready % strike glasses : 

Our mutual friendship. 

Dom. Forever ! 

G. Drink deep. (Bibunt Omnes.) 

M. A song j a song from the Do- 
mine ! 

Domine sings : 

Air, "Lumps o'Pudding." 

Let each jovial brother come fill up his glass, 
Let us live while we may for old Time's on the wing 
Then to-night, boys, in wassail the hours we will pass 
And drink to their health in a Chapel Hill sling. 

Ohorus : 0, come boys we'll banish our sorrow, 
Our cares to the winds we will fling, 
AVe live but to-day, not to-morrow, 
So here's to a Chapel Hill Sling. 

Whether Seniors or Freshmen whatever our mitr., 
Our pleasures are equal and nothing can bring 
A shade or a sorrow to dim the delight 
That we feel when we're drinking a Chapel Hill sling 

Chorus, boys, chorus ! 
Gillie and Mart, sing : 

0, come, boys, we'll banish our sorrow, &c. 

We care not for fame nnd we care not for gold, 
Our glory's the bottle then, then, boys let's sing 
The praises of Bacchus as Greeks did of old, 
And drink to his health in a Chapel Hill Sling. 
0, come, &c. 

When our loves prove untrue shall we worry and fret 
And let our hearts ache us for any such thing ? 
No ; we'll meet here together and drink and forget, 
That there's anything else but a Chapel Hill Sling. 
0, come, &c. 

There's treachery lurks in the dark glancing eye 
Of the beauties who lure us our heart-strings to Wring, 
This world is a cheat, boj's, and love is a lie, 
But true to the death is a Chapel Hill Sling. 
0, come, &c. 

Then fill up a bumper and rouse ye your souls, 
While we live let us live is the chorus we sing, 
Then we'll drown every care in our full flowing bowlg, 
And drain the last drop to a Chapel Hill Sling. 
0, come, &c. 



And boys, when upon me is heaped the cold clay, 
Don't moisten the flowers that over me spring, 
But sing merrily still, and drive sorrow away, 
And drink to my memory a Chapel Hill Sling. 

0, come, boys, we'll banish our sorrow, 
Our cares to the winds we will fling, 
We live but to-day, not to-morrow, 
So here's to a Chapel Hill Sling. 

G. aside to M. "What's the matter 
-with the Domine ? 

M aside to G. Don't know, never 
saw him so before. Aloud — Capital 
song, Domine, where did you get it ? 

D. Oh, its just a bit of a one that 
I wrote when I was in a singular hu- 

G. "Well, where have you been* 
this vacation, Domine, and what 
doing ? there's the jug, shake off 
this gloom for you are melancholly 
although you sing. Be cheerful : — 
rouse yourself or you will lose cast 
with your club. You've let your ci- 
gar go out, take another. 

M. Domine, have you been taking 
lessons in humanity lately ? 

D. I gloomy ? I melancholly ? I 
in love ? Who said I was in love ? 
Gentlemen, I assure you that you 
are mistaken. 

(The Domine moves to a window at 
the far end of the room, gazes at the 
star's, and is buried in a profound rev- 

G. I expected as much, Mort. — 
The Domine's confounded mountain 
adventures during vacation have 
played the deuce with him, besides 
transforming a merry fellow into a 

M. You'll soon see the Domine 
himself again. I'll give him that 
same antidote with Which I cured 

myself, and recall his attention to 
Part 3, Mem. 5 of Burton's Anatomy; 
it may go hard at first, but it will be 
all the better for him. O Domine ! 

D. Well, sir. 

Will she be here next commence- 
ment ? 

D. Who ? 

M. "Your own true deary, O." 

D. If I had one I would not want 
her to come. I would love to think 
of such an one as "curtained from 
the sight of the gross world" as much 
as possible ; two sacred to be jostled 
about in a ball-room, and too affec- 
tionate to leave home and come away 
here to a frolic. 

G. Would you not want her to 
h^lp you enjoy your triumphs ? 

D. No. 

G. Well you are an envious man 
and extremely selfish withal. 

M. Tell us about your trip, Do- 
mine, you went to the mountains 
did'nt you. 

D. Yes, and I wish I had a breath 
of their fresh air and a drink from 
their pure springs now, when the 
thermometer is about ninety in the 
shade. Have you never crossed the 
Blue Eidge ? 

M. No. 

D. Then go at your earliest op- 
portunity. You will surely be in- 
terested, and it will do your heart 
good too. The simple and honest 
habits of the people, their contented 
and honest lives and the beauty of 
the scenery on all sides, will per- 
haps thaw that misanthropy which 
sometimes envelopes you like a crust 



of ice. You should be alone among 
the silent mountains where there 
vras no trace of a former visitor, — 
when the winds were asleep and 
the little lakes as motionless as the 
grasses which fringe their margins, 
and the tinny streams were moving 
from their unseen springs to their 
hidden retreats as noislessly as trav- 
ellers to the spirit land ; when not a 
bird note could be heard, nor an in- 
sect crawled or flitted across your 
track 5 and there was nothing to 
remind you of life except yourself. 
Then the great sun would seem to 
say, "do I shine on none but thee ? 
Thou too owest a duty to thy fel. 
lows." Some holy thoughts would 
then cluster in your bosom for a mo- 
ment, at least, and as you threaded 
your way back, if you were a sadder 
man at the little insight you had 
taken into your heart, you would be 
a better one. 

G. The Domine a philosopher ! 

M. aside to G. Far gone, sir, far 
gone — aloud — did you sec a storm 
Domine ? 

D. Yes. It was about the close j 
of twilight as I was sitting at the 
window, smoking my cigar and 
thinking over the events of the day. 
The sky was overcast except in the 
South, where the stars gave sufficient 
light for me to tracethe dim outlines 
of a spur, which juts off from the 
main ridge, and forms itself into a 
variety of fantastic looking peaks at 
a short distance off. The clouds 
which had been drifting about col- 
lected in the North and remained 

stationary for a short time,gathering 
strength for the coming struggle. 
The distant muttering thunder now 
roared nearer, hastening to the con- 
flict. Large heavy drops of rain, 
forerunners of the tempest now be- 
gan to fall. All nature looked omin- 
ously dark, and the scowl that black- 
ened the mountain's brow seemed to 
dare the storm to do its worst. By 
this time the cloud had encircled the 
rock which crowns the highest peak, 
and burst. The rain streamed, and 
the wind: was raging up and down 
the ravines and among the cliffs like 
the unchained spirit of a Titan. 
Twilight had vanished, and night 
rapidly followed in its traces. The 
lightning which before had faintly 
illuminated the heavens, now darted 
its dazling streaks around the moun- 
tain side, and lit up the basin below 
with unearthly splendor. The chest- 
nuts writhed in agony and lashed 
and twisted their huge limbs as if try- 
ing to escape. Each flash would 
light up the long ravines, and the 
bending trees in the gorges seemed 
like loose devils that the wind was 
scourging home. Then an inky 
blackness would envelop all, and the 
thunder would peal like discharges 
of artillery in rapid succession, each 
louder than the one preceding ; and 
the distant ridges would bellow back 
a low, deep rumbling sound that 
would wander from cliff to cliff and 
rock to rock, until it was lost in the 
confused roaring of the tempest. 





D. The sky soon cleared off; the 
little stars were blinking quietly as 
ever and the moon looked kindly on 
the earth as if sympathizing with 
her for the ravages of the storm.' — 
Next morning the sun rose in glory, 
and the cattle were grazing on the 
hill sides. 

G. How did you manage to pass 
your time pleasantly away up there 
in the woods, where they swap wives, 
drink coffee out of a saucer — when 
they have any — and vote for Andrew 
Jackson for President ? 

D. Pass time! Why it went like 
a Senior's dollars, we climbed moun- 
tains, went trout fishing, visited wa- 
ter-falls and had pic nics. 

G-. O, delightful; scrambling 
through innumerable bushes, wedg- 
ing yourself tight among the rocks ; 
"now crawling along on all fours to 
make your way through the thick- 
ets, sometimes cooning it across a 
knotty log, and sometimes sprawling 
on your back from an unlucky slip. 
Here's t to the Dornine; (drinks.') — 
Yours be it to stand upon the moun- 
tain's brow and gaze upon the enrap- 
turing scenes of Nature with a poet's 
eye, the distant ridges, the interven- 
ing hills, the fertile lowlands and 
winding rivers ; yours from the cliff 
tops to look down the dizzy steeps ; 
yours to be where purls the crystal 
stream and thunders the impetuous 
cataract ; yours to recline at ease in 
grottoes cool where ladies' eyes are 
sparkling, and yield your heart a 
prey to love in a delightful dream. 

These be your pleasures. Dream on 
good Domine, enjoy it while it lasts 
'twill vanish soon, O 

M. Gillie, you better lie down 
awhile ; you slept scarcely any last 

G. What do I want to go to bed 
for ? I'm not sleepy, and I want to 
talk to Domine. O, Domine, 

Forsan et haec olini meminisse juvabit. 

Spencer says — 

0, who can turn the stream of Destiny 
Or break the chain of strong Necessity ? 

And Shakspeare — 

M. What paper is that in your 
pocket, Gillie ? 

G. I took it from the Domine' s 
port folio, poor fellow ! 

D. Did some one mention my 
name ? 

M. Yes ; here's a song of yours ; 
we want to hear it. 

D. O, that ; it's not mine ; a lady 
friend of mine imagined herself in 
my position and wrote it for me ; I 
mean she imagined herself in what 
she thought was my position ; I need 
not tell you that she is mistaken. I 
don't know the air or I would sing 
it; but I'll read it for you; (reads :) 

Where roves the New among the steeps, 

Where grows the ivy up the hill, 
And roaring down the cataract sweeps 

My truant thoughts are lingering still. 
In vain I try to curb my heart, 

In vain my will I strive to rally, 
My memory spite of every art, 

Brings back the mountain and the valley. 

Can I forget old Bald's grey top, 
The pathway down his rugged steep, 

The wild flowers that we loved to crop, 
Our songs that broke the silence deep ? 

The moss soats by the crystal stream 



That rolled along its waters sparkling, 
And lost itself like some wild dream 
Among the laurel thickets darkling ? 

fair are mountain brooks to see, 

And sweet the flowers among the rocki, 
But dearer yet than these to me 

Is Mary with the raven locks. 
I've been where beauty's light has shone, 

I've seen of bright eyed ladies many ; 
Bnt of them all there is not one 

That's like the dark-haired, black-eyed Mary. 

Alasf farewell ; thy star-lit eye 
More kindly lights another's heart ; 

1 turn away, perhaps I sigh, 
Perhaps a single tear may start : 

Mary, farewell I say, but yet 
The heart that's left so drear and lonely, 

Cannot so easily forget 
One first I loved, one I'll love only. 

M. Domine I believe you. I know 
your weakness, but I don't accuse 
you of writing this ; why the last 
stanza is enough to damn a man ; 
such expressions could only come 
from some poor, whining, love-sick 
soul too insignificant and cowardly 
to vivify humanity. 

D. Certainly. Of course the lady 
wrote it in jest ; I know that her 
opinion coincides with yours. 

M. How did you go, and what 
part of the mountains did you visit ? 

D. I travelled alone, and my route 
was through Burke, "Watauga, Ashe, 
and home by Virginia. I remained 
a short while in Burke and spent the 
rest of my time in Watauga, except 
a few days in Ashe. 

M. Did you meet an}?- acquain- 
tances ? 

D. None except the gentleman 
at whose house I stopped in Ashe. 
He said that some of the students of 
the University had been in the neigh- 

borhood a few days before ; that they 
were fine good boys, and went to 
church on Sunday. There was a par- 
ty of ladies and gentlemen making 
the place headquarters, whence they 
would sally out in quest of pleasure 
and amusement. My host introduc- 
ed me to the company, and I soon 
found myself in possession of a fund 
of enjoyment that I had not antici- 
pated. The ladies were in an exceed- 
ingly good humor, and many were 
the jokes and bonmots that circulat- 
ed in our little group ; I noticed one 
fellow with a light moustache whose 
good nature, I thought, was imposed 
on too much. The slightest fatix 
pas of his during the trip was cruel- 
ly remembered and turned upon him. 
It was a charming spot where we 
were all assembled. The house is a 
two story one, on a small elevation 
near the forth fork of New river. 
You go up to the gate over a gently 
sloping hill which is carpeted with 
small clover. Here we were accus- 
tomed to sit and see the sunsets. It 
is but a step or two from the gate to 
the door of the dwelling, though the 
in closure extends far enough on both 
sides to make a commodious yard, 
which is grown up with grass and 
little rose bushes. When you sit in 
the piazza, one-half of which is lat- 
iced and shaded by vines, you can 
see directly in front a spur jutting 
off from the main body of the moun- 
tains and forming three or four dis- 
tinct peaks at a short distance off. — 
Their summits are connected by a 



chain of cliffs which varies in height, 
and is very narrow, except on the 
highest, where it spreads out and 
forms a top not -unlike a camel's 
back ; directly to the right are hill- 
side pastures, and between these bar- 
riers the three tops may be partly 
seen looming up majestically, and 
looking down with a kingly air on 
their less lofty neighbors. Just in 
front and to the left, broad meadows 
stretch beautifully out, extending 
nearly to the sparkling waters of the 

M. Where did you first go ? 

D. We went to the falls. The 
arrangement was made the evening 
previous to start while the mists 
were still hangingupon the lowlands, 
but the ladies preferred the luxury 
of repose to the rosy tinted Eastern 
sky, and we had to wait their leisure. 
At length we were under weigh, and 
our party, consisting of four ladies 
and five gentlemen, were clattering 
merrily off towards the cataract. — 
The cool morning air braced our 
nerves, and invigorated our spirits 
accordingly. We went galloping 
along in couples — the moustachiod 
gentleman gloomily following in the 
rear — while the road permitted, and 
it was cheering to hear us laugh and 
sing, the ladies, of course, especially. 
If I were there now, I should not be 
surprised at the echoes of those songs, 
su fondly were the notes prolonged. 
The road soon narrowed down so, 
that we had to strike a single file, 
n ud we presented quite a romantic 

appearance, the ladies in their fan- 
tastic riding habits and wo in our 
tight hunting caps and Inige boots, 
as we wound over hill and dale, some- 
times up the bed of a water-course 
and now circling the base of a high 
bluff, now forcing our horses across 
a deep bedded brook and now leav- 
ing the path to gather wild flowers 
for our beautiful charges. The scen- 
ery became more pictuesque' and 
diversified. The sun scarcely pene- 
trated the thick canopy of foliage 
and everything looked dark and 
damp. The stream that descends 
from the falls, and which we follow- 
ed up, foamed and tumbled among 
the rocks, indicating that we were 
nearing our destination. The laurel, 
too, was growing along the steep 
banks so thick that the glancing wa- 
ter below could only be seen at inter- 
vals. I told you about the surging ? 

M. Yes. 

G. It Avas delightful to hear — 

" Thou wilt come no more gentle Addie," 

in the distance, and have it wafted 
to the ear mingling with the music 
of the stream. And perhaps you 
would hear at the same time from 
the rear 

" Moonlight is tender." 

My acquaintance with the ladies — 
scarcely a dozen years old — had pro- 
gressed so rapidly that they made 
me the repository of innumerable 
secrets. One of them especially 
seemed to make me her confident 
and favourite, and I was boastingto 



myself of my numerous attractive 
qualities, when I discovered by 
chance, that my fair deceiver was 
playing the same game with two oth- 
er gentlemen in the party. Well 
no more about that, she could'nt belp 
it. Eelatious of formei adventures 
and incidents, jests and stories en- 
livened us. Each contributed his 
share to the general stock, except 
the gentleman with the light mous- 
tache, who appeared too melancholy 
to take a part. I thought I would 
try and console him, but when I at- 
tempted it, he only replied by point- 
ing to a ground squirrel which was 
quietly situated upon a rock and 
seemed as if lo3t in some metaphys- 
ical speculation. I concluded from 
this that he preferred not to have 
his meditations interrupted, so I 
troubled him no more. Thus wo 
passed the time until we were with- 
in a short distance of the falls, where 
we hitched our horses and commenc- 
ed the decent. After scrambling and 
slipping and sliding for a few hun- 
dred yards we reached the foot. 
From where we stood 

M. Never mind a minute descrip- 
tion, onry the distinguished features. 

D. The water came down in two 
deep and narrow volumes, over a bed 
of solid rock to which it had worn 
away the earth, for more than a hun- 
dred feet. Sometimes it would fall 
perpendicularly into large basins and 
eddy and dash away again in its 
downward course ; again it would 
tumble clown at a greater or less an- 

gle, shrouding in spray the laurels 
and ivy that were growing on its 
banks. The falls were divided by a 
low? narrow island covered with a 
dense undergrowth and but slightly 
elevated above the surface of the 
water ; the bank on each of the other 
sides was rugged and in places pre- 
cipitous. We started for the he-ad 
of the falls and after severe climbing 
for about an hour, and with frequent 
baitings, we reached the top of the 
hill. We were fatigued by oui> la- 
bours, and our horses being near, we 
soon mounted them and were rattling 
off cheerily towards the squire's. 

M. Did you catch any trouts, 
Domine ? 

D. No ; but I saw some fine ones 
captured by a few fishermen whom 
we met at the falls. By the way, do 
you know that the speckled trout is 
a classical fish ? We have in "Wind- 
sor Forest " — 

" Swift trouts diversified by crimson stains." 

Do you know how they are taken ? 

M. Yes; delightful sport. Did 
you ascend the Elk Knob while in 
Ashe ? 

D. Yes ; and when I reached the 
summit I went to sleep, woke up 
and found the company gone, ad- 
mired the scenery, found the par- 
ty at dinner, ate pickles and ham, 
smoked a cigar and enjoyed myself 
finely with the ladies. Next day af- 
ter making arrangements to meet 
my fair acquaintances at the same 
place in the Spring, I bade them and 
the mountains adieu ; and turned my 



face towards the land of the sand-hill 
and pine. 

M. Did you versify any on the 
occasion ? 

D. I have the first copy of some 
I wrote and handed to the ladies, 
(reads :) 

O land of the mountain and valley and dell, 
And clear crystal streams must I bid you farewell ? 
No more shall I wander among the grim peaks 
Where Nature so silently awfully speaks, 
Or climb to the height where the far ridges bine 
In massive piles broken burst full on the view : 
Where the cataract leaps now in frolicsome play, 
And now eddies and dashes in madness away. 
Where the ivy crowned cliff-top looks gloomily down 
As if half with a smile — as if half with a frown ? 
No more wreathe the laurel that grows on the hills 
With the flowers that bloom by the chattering rills ? 
Adieu, for the present, but when the sweet spring 
Shall ope the white ash buds soft voices shall ring 
The same merry laugh and the gladsome old song, 
Where the New rolls its silvery waters along. 
Again we will rove by the river's green shore, 
And toil up the hills where the waterfalls roar. 
We'll watch the grey mists of the morning that rise 
And seek for a home. in their own native skies, 
And 'neath the dark latice where wanders the vine 
The fresh budding roses together we'll twine, 
And gaze on the tints of the sun's lingering ray 
As they vary and mingle and darken away. 
Then adieu to the land of the valley and mountain, 
The laurel and ivy, and dingle and fountain, 
Farewell, fate may tear me away if it will, 
But my desolate spirit shall linger there still. 

M. Are you going back, Doniine ? 

D. No ; the lady that flirted with 
me, and made the arrangement, will 
this winter marry the gentleman 
withythe light moustache, whose su- 
preme felicity has not permitted him 
to keep the secret. 

M. Gillie ! what asleep ! wake 
up ! here's Tom with the suppers. 

G. Umph ; what time is it ? 

M. Two o'clock. (Enter Tom 
with the tray, places it on the table and 
retires ; Old Mortality t Gillie and the 
Domine sit down to supper.) d. 



In looking over the Catalogue of 
those to whom mankind have agreed 
to apply the name of Genius, a some- 
thing better known than defined or 
described, we find that most of 
them were disposed either to look 
on the dark side of the world, or re- 
ally were early introduced to the 
frowns of fortune. We do not deny 
that what we call Genius is inborn, 
and dare to argue that it is the off- 
spring of any external influences ; 
but it does really seem that misfor- 
tune tends to put it in action, and to 
make it more an operative principle, 
if we may so call it. We can see some 
reason for this. When the mind ia 
weighed down. by those passions or 
feelings, which misfortune produces, 
there are two ways in which it may 
relieve itself, either by calling in the 
aid of the imagination to paint un- 
real beauties, or by giving vent to 
its emotions in the form of revenge- 
ful satire. The outburstings of a 
mind thus seeking to relieve itself, 
are apt to be worthy of the name of 
Genius. Byron, who probably fills 
our conception of a Genius as much 
or more than any other man of mod- 
ern times, though he seems to have 
had no real cause of mental suffer- 
ing, at least thought himself the 



child of misfortune, as is evident from 
the picture he gives us of Childe 
Harolde ; and he confesses that he is 
painting himself, when he pictures 
the inward woe of his hero : 

" Childe Herold basked him in the noontide sun, 

Disporting there like any other fly , 
Nor deem'd before his little day was done, 

One blast might chill him into misery. 
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by 

Worse than adversity the Childe befell, 
He felt the fulness of satiety ; 

When loathed he in his native land to dwell, 
Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad cell." 

Again he writes that he composed 
that beautiful Turkish tale "The 
Bryde of Abydos," to lighten his 
mind of the load of grief that was 
then weighing it down. Cowper 
wrote many of those beautiful hymns 
that are now sung in some of our 
Churches, to distract his mind, too 
sensitive to the least touch of mis- 
fortune, from its sorrows. Edgar 
A. Poe, whom his biographer seems 
to consider the greatest, if not the 
only real American Genius, was 
made acquainted with the reverses 
of fortune, just as he was entering 
upon life's stage ; but as soon as he 
found himself the dupe of expecta- 
tion, his genius arose above the 
wreck and secured for him his laurel 
wreath. These observations have 
led to the following story, which 
may serve as an illustration : 

Among the many antique remains 
of Scotland there are, perhaps, none 
which more engage and interest the 
eye of the traveller than the ivy- 
clad ruins of the famous castle of 
Mingarin, named from its first Lord 

and owner. It is situated on what 
is known as the promontory of 
Morven, towards the north-eastern 
part of Scotland, and in one of its 
most romantic parts. Many are the 
associations that linger about these 
mouldering ruins which cannot fail 
to inspire the breasts of Scotland's 
children even at the present day with 
feelings of patriotism, as they breathe 
the same atmosphere that swelled 
the lungs of such men as Bruce and 
his fellow-warriors — the same enthu- 
siasm that swells the heart of the 
modern Greek, as " he pauses on the 
plains of Marathon." "We do not at- 
tempt here to explain why men visit 
such hallowed spots with so much 
reverence, only that it is our nature 
to do so. And if deeds of valour 
and patriotism can render a spot sa- 
cred, there is no place in Scotland 
which deserves more to be consider- 
ed the sanctuary of noble hearts than 
the ruined castle of Mingarin, and 
no better shrine can the lover of no- 
bility and freedom find at which to 
fall and worship. Here all the best 
bloods of Scotland thronged, their 
breasts burning with a desire to re- 
venge their country's wrongs, and 
in their minds resolved to perish or 
shake from their necks the galling 
yoke of England. Here they con- 
certed measures for mutual defence, 
and hence went up their united pray- 
ers for the freedom of Scotland. 

"We have said that the castle of 
Mingarin was situated in one of the 
most romantic parts of Scotland. To 



the East of it the sea dashed itself 
with maddened fury against the 
rugged and precepitous heights of 
Morven ; to the North, South and 
"West it was surrounded by those 
mountain barrfers and sunken vales, 
which make up the variegated and 
sublime scenery of Scotland. A fit 
refuge itwas for the Scotch Lords in 
time of peril, where they were held 
in security on three sides by the 
mountain barriers, and on the other 
might obtain supplies by means of 
the sea, or if need be, escajDe to the 
continent. There is hardly any 
country where it would be harder 
for an enemy to make an incursion 
than the Northern part of Scotland, 
the regions of the Axarquia in Spain 
not excepted ; and there eould hard- 
ly be found a place of more security 
than the castle of Mingarin, both 
from its situation and the manner of 
its construction. It stood directly 
upon the top of the Promontory 
overlooking the sea, where a small 
harbour or cove was formed by the 
curvature ol the ' shore in which a 
little fleet might lie tolerably secure 
at anchor, and where a landing might 
with some difficulty be effected. It 
would be hard to describe the man- 
ner in which this stronghold was 
built, with its spacious halls, its se- 
cret cells and subterranean passages, 
where the song and the dance might 
be canned on -in time of peace, and 
when the foe was near all might 
take refuge in hidden places where 
the keenest eye could hardly pene- 

trate. In fact it was necessary that 
these castles should be thus built, for 
different clans were apt to be at va- 
riance or war with each other, even 
if no foreign enemy was near, so that 
the feudal Lord might barricade him- 
self in his fortress, and with a few 
followers, like a lion at bay, bid de- 
fiance to a small army. He who has 
read Scott's description of the castle 
of Woodstock, can form a good idea 
of Mingarin. The former constitutes 
the scene of a tyrant's amours, and 
the ref age of a dethroned king, while 
the latter is.associated with the name 
of patriots and the deeds of patriot- 
ism. About a hundred paces from 
the castle is a beautiful, gushing 
Spring, which empties itself through 
a winding stream into the sea. The 
Sj>ring is in a valley between two 
rugged hills, which are so steep as 
to require some labour to climb up 
them. On one side and several paces 
up the hill nature has thrown several 
huge rocks into such shape as to form 
a very pleasant little grotto, where 
ever the murmurings of the stream 
may be distintly heard as it winds 
its way down the valley. On the 
other side a very large and stately 
Oak stands overshadowing the spring 
with its branches, and irrigating it- 
self with its limpid waters which 
send forth gentle murmurings as they 
glide softly o'er its roots. There is. 
something majestic in the appearance 
of this venerable Oak, which, like 
Scotland's noble warriors, appears 
more triumphant when the storm is 
raging. There is a mournful sigh- 



ing of its branches, like that we of- 
ten hear in travelling through a fine 
forest -when the wind is blowing 
gently, the more solemn as it stands 
alone, as if it were weeping over 
those brave ones who had lain at 
ease under its shade in peaceful times 
when the song and the dance had 
sounded "the dirge of care," and 
who had long since fallen in freedom's 
cause. But hereby hangs our tale 
— Louis Cuthullin was an honest 
Highlander with three children, two 
sons (James and Eichard) and one 
daughter, Melvina. His wife .Mar- 
garet had died when Melvina was 
but seven years old ; but if she need- 
ed the early training of a mother, 
she was amply compensated in the 
lessons of virtue and wisdom that 
she received from her father. He 
was ignorant of the fashions and gal- 
lantries of courtly life, while she was 
as far above the rude manner of Scot- 
tish poGr. We find she was what 
would now be called a virtuous and 
accomplished lady ; for her father, 
though he was in appearance a rug- 
ged highlander, had nevertheless ac- 
quired a pretty good knowledge of 
literature, all of which he imparted 
to his beloved Melvina; but our story 
will tell that he was amply repaid 
in the comfort she afforded his de- 
clining years. Cuthullin heard the 
wrongs of Scotland with anger and 
grief, he listened to its defeats with 
disappointment and sorrow, and its 
doubtful victories filled him with jo} r 
and anxiety. He was a true patriot 

and an honest man, and exemplifies 
clearly the fact that under the plain- 
est garb the proudest heart may 
throb. His very atmosphere had in- 
spired him with patriotism, and he 
longed for the day when a Cincin- 
natus would arise who might redress 
the wrongs of his injured country. 
He trained up his two sons in this 
way, and told them that they were 
to rally around the standard of free- 
dom at the first blast of the bugle. 
His lessons were not in vain, for 
braver hearts never throbed than 
those of James and Eichard Cathul- 
lin. Thus time wore on ; while his 
zeal for the freedom of Scotland in- 
creased proportionally in the breast 
of Louis Cuthullin. He was no mad 
fanatic, borne on to extremes by the 
impetuosity of his passions ; but had 
formed his notions of liberty, from 
a calm consideration of the claims of 
England upon the homage of Scot- 
land. Eough as he was in exterior, 
he had an inquiring mind which had 
searched into the records of history 
and found that her only claim was 
that one of Scotland's former rulers, 
whea pressed by narrow circum- 
stances, had consented to do homage 
for a portion of his territory to the 
crown of England. And that even 
this requirement had been neglected. 
It is strange upon what flimsy pre- 
texts ambitious sovereigns declare 
that they have a right to invade the 
territory of their neighbors ; and his- 
tory proves that Edward was urged 
to the invasion of Scotland only by 



that overruling principle of his na- 
ture — his insatiable thirst for milita- 
ry glory. The motives of Cuthul- 
lin were then not only patriotic, hut 
courageous and well founded on jus- 
tice and right ; and we see him with 
pleasure training his children in all 
those noble lessons of justice and 
freedom which flowed from his own 
well-meaning heart. Every evening 
when the shades of night were gath- 
ering upon the hill-tops, and the 
drowsy herds had ceased their low- 
ings, he would call them, in the 
warm weather, beneath the branches 
of a large oak that stood before his 
highland cottage, or in the winter 
time around the cheerful fire, and re- 
cite to them Scottish ballads that 
had been sung over the brave heroes 
who had fallen in their country's 
cause, to inspire their young hearts 
with sentiments of freedom. On one 
occasion he had hardly finished one 
of these songs the closing lines of 
which the following is a rude trans 
lation : 

■■ Proud Edward's sword wo yet will break, 
And on his head our vengeance wreak ; 
Old Scotia's sons will yet be free, 
Their watchword, death or liberty ! 

"When Eichard and James simul- 
taneously leaped from their seats as 
if catching the enthusiasm of their 
parent, and swore to give^ their 
lives to the cause of their injured 
country. Nor did the beautiful Mel- 
vina fail to express her emotions by 
the unwonted lustre that then beam- 
ed in her eyes. " Ah ! my sons," 
said the exulting father, " I have had 

to nurse you from your infancy, and 
supply the place of your angel moth- 
er — I have been anxious lest you 
should not imbibe my lessons into 
willing hearts ; and I feel from what 
you say to-night, that I am paid for 
all my labors." "Death will be 
sweet to me," continued he, " if the 
last thing told me is that my sons 
have perished, exclaiming ' Scotland 
shall be free.' " Here he was so 
much agitated that he could say no 
more. Eichard and James renewed 
their oath to keep faithful to their 
country, and Malvina seemed to wear 
unusual air of triumph. He was 
very much in the habit of exercising 
his sons in the art of fencing in their 
leisure moments. He would some- 
times make one assume the charac- 
ter of Edward, and the other a de- 
fender of Scotland ; and it always 
happened that Scotland's champion 
was victorious, with so much enthu- 
siasm would his brain be fired. On 
one occasion Eichard, who had as 
sumed the character of Edward, ha 
well nigh overcome James at a tilt, 
when by a dextereus effort James 
disarmed him and sent his foil whirl- 
ing in the air. The old man was so 
much elated that he immediately pre- 
sented him with a faithful sword that 
had been long preserved as a memo- 
rial of his ancestors. Thus months 
rolled by and Cuthullin grew more 
eager *that some one should arise who 
might lift from the neck of Scotland 
the galling yoke of England. The 
time at length came on, and the bu- 






gle blast of the warlike Bruce was 
heard summoning all Scotland to the 
charge. "We may imagine the feel- 
ings of those brave warriors who 
nocked to his standard by thinking 
how we have often felt when the 
event arrives which has kept us along 
time in suspense. Many were the no- 
ble souls resolved to perish, if need be, 
by his side, and among that throng 
there were none braver found than 
Louis Cuthullin and his two sons 
who had now just ripened into man- 
hood. He had left Melvina in the 
charge of an old Aunt who lived in 
the interior of Scotland, and pro- 
nouncing his blessing upon her, gone 
forth to give bis life up to the cause 
of Scotland. The day for the final 
decisive battle came. What throbb- 
ing, anxious hearts were there when 
the freedom of their country was at 
stake. Many a spartan mother had 
sent forth her brave boy, in a little 
time, to be consoled by the sad news 
that he had fallen on his sword. — 
The doubtful contest began, and 
alas ! 

Old Scotia's freedom shrieked 
When Brace's banner fell. 

The noble James Cuthullin fell 
while making a desperate charge 
upon the enemy, and his younger 
brother Ei chard was carried captive 
into England. The old man, almost 
overcome with sorrow and chagrin, 
escaped from the field of battle, and 
turning his feeble steps, with a few 
followers, to where he had left Mal- 
vina, hastened with her and her Aunt 

to the strong castle of Mingarin, 
which was then open to fugitives. — 
How can Malvina's grief be describ- 
ed when she heard the misfortune of 
her brave brothers ? Hardly could 
her father, himself so much grieved 
and disappointed, console her with 
hope of brighter things in future ; but 
misfortune often changes the tender 
heart of woman and makes her at 
once a man ; and Malvina resolved 
to bear her grief and be her father's 
comforter. They all reached Min- 
garin safely, whither some had fled 
before, so that they formed a pitiful 
garrison of heartstricken fugitives. 
Cuthullin procured for himself, his 
daughter and her Aunt the most pri- 
vate apartment of the castle where 
he might be left to his thoughts. — 
Eeveries impart a balm to the bleed- 
ing heart, and the old man felt a 
pleasure in thinking within himself 
of Scotland's better days. His daugh- 
ter was his greatest comfort, and she 
often sat by his side and wiped from 
his eye the sparkling tear. Thus 
days and months rolled by, while a 
cloud still lowered o'er the pros- 
pects of Scotland. The old man was 
wont torepair to the Spring we have 
mentioned, and spend the whole day 
in the pleasant grotto we have de- 
scribed. On such occasions he al- 
ways desired to be alone, and even 
Malvina felt herself to be an intru- 
der if she approached the grotto. 

No one knew what the old man 
occupied himself with in his solitary 
moments, but thought that he was 



only indulging in day-dreams as we 
are sometimes wont to do in times 
of misfortune, or brooding over his 
late ills where the sighing of the 
wind amid the branches of the state- 
ly Oak, and the soft nvurmurings of 
the little stream, might accord with 
his' feelings. They, therefore, left 
him alone. At length, after a con- 
siderable lapse of time, it was appa- 
rent to all that the old man, who 
was now known as Eather Guthullin 
was fast yielding to the troubles and 
infirmitives of his age, for n earl y 
sixty winters had now whitened his 
locks. Now do we behold the angelic 
Melvina triumphing over herself and 
putting childish weaknesses aside, 
■endeavoring by her smiles to prolong 
the fretful span of her father's life. 
And how would his faded eye rekin- 
dle as her musical voice would echo 
the words of some dying hero ! — 
Surely woman is superior to man ; 
for, to use th-e language of another, 
she bends like the reed to the storm 
while the sturdy Oak is crushed. — 
But father Outhulliri continued to 
decline until it was apjjarent that he 
could not survive much longer. One 
day, as he lay in his rootn in the 
castle with his daughter by his side 
trying to comfort him, just as he l«id. 
uttered these words to her " I die 
contented, knowing that my sons 
have sacrifiecl their lives for the free- 
dom of Scotland" the door opened 
suddenly and some one announced 
that two men had arrived by sea who 
•wished to see father Guthullin and 

Melvina. They were directed to 
come immediately to his room, and 
in a moment the old man was clasp- 
ing to his bosom his long-absent 
Richard. His tale was short. When 
taken captive he and the rest of the 
prisoners were confined in a castle 
not very far from London and close- 
ly guarded for a long time ; but after 
a while the guards grew negligent, 
allowing the prisoners to leave their 
apartments and walk about the cas- 
tle. On one such occasion he and 
several more effected their escape by 
deceiving the guard and succeeded 
in proeuriiig some horses soon after 
by the aid of which they readied 
the frontier of Scotland, where they 
received news that the party of Bruce 
were preparing to strike a second 
blow. Hero the old man's eyes spark- 
led with delight. Richard then told 
him that he had found out that he 
was at Mingarin Castle, and had come 
to receive his blessings before he 
went forth a second time to the bat- 
tle. " You shall have it," exclaimed 
the old man, " and God grant that 
your swerd be not raised in vain !" 
He stoped and introduced his faith- 
ful friend and fellow-captive, Albert 
Armoor. " I feel as if you were my 
son already," said the old man tak- 
ing his hand, " and I feel honored to 
be so called " replied Albert. After 
many heartfelt congratulations the 
old man desired to be left alone with 
Richard. "My son," said he, tak- 
ing him by the hand, " I feel that I 
am very near the close of my life, 



and I am proud to think that if I have 
not fallen on the field of battle, I 
have always been ready and willing 
to sacrifive my life to the cause of 
Scotland. Even in my moments of 
confinement here, I hope that I may 
have done some good. When I am 
dead, go to the Oak that stands by 
the Spring and remove the stone 
that rests against it, and in the hollow 
of the tree you will find a box, the 
contents of which you may distribute 
throughout Scotland." lie had hard- 
ly said this when he began to grow 
Aveek and called for Melvina. She 
was instantly at his side. "My 
daughter," said he, " if you are a 
woman be a man in the cause of 
Scotland. Scorn the offer of any 
one whose motto is not Scotland's 
freedom." A triumphant smile might 
be seen to light up the countenance 
of Albert Armoor at these words, 
for he was already in love with the 
j romantic Highland girl. Melvina 
promised to be faithful to her fath- 
er's wishes. Cuthullin survived that 
| day ; but the next morning, just as 
the sun was peeping over the hights 
of Morven, he died triumphantly in 
the arms of Richard. His last words 
were " My son be true to Scotland." 
.The whole castle was shrouded in 
( gloom, for all loved father Cuthullin 
gloomy as he was. Richard thought 
-. his father's death too great a triumph 
;.to be lamented, and Melvina bore it 
. heroically. The next day his re- 
i mains were placed under the oak, 
.over afterwards known as Cuthul- 

1 lin' j, Oak, and a simple slab after- 
wards placed over them, with his 
motto, " Scotland's freedom," in- 
scribed upon it. Richard was now 
reminded to examine the interior of 
the tree where he found the box, and 
in it a large number of ballads and 
patriotic songs, unequalled by any 
in Scotland. The old man's misfor- 
tunes had awakened his genius and 
he poured forth such strains as were 
more effective than the blast of the 
bugle in calling up patriotism in the 
bosoms of those who heard them. — 
They were circulated, as was his de- 
sire, throughout Scotland, and per- 
haps some of the inspiration which 
Scott, " the buried genius of Ro- 
mance," has breathed into his verses, 
came from the whisperings of Cuthul- 
lin's Oak. The following is a rude 
version of a part ot one of his bal- 
lads, entitled 

"Mingarin Bard's Song of Freedom." 

IIow long, oh Scotia ! wilt them sleep 
Beneath a frowning tyrants sword f 

Awake ! and let thy warriors leap 
With joy at thy bugle's word! 

Oh Morven ! hoist thy banner high ! 

And let it wave o'er Scotia's plains ; 
Ye sons of Scotland swear to die 

Or wipe from Scotia's brow her stains ! 

From where the wave on Morven wreathes, 
And casts his brawny arms around 

To where he frowns on Hebrides, 
Let warriors true and brave be found ! 

Let Bruce's bugle blast be heard 
By Mull's dark waves and stormy sho"'e ; 

Let every note arouse a Lord 
And swear — for freedom evermore ! 

Up I up 1 once more ye noble Lords, 

Why crouch beneath a tyrant's frowns ? 
Loose from her hands, proud England'schords, : 



The warlike Bruce will lead you on 
TJntil the glorious work is done ! 

Oft have I heard Mingarin ring 
With mirth and dance and jovial glee; 

Where fairy forms were want to sing 
Their loves in low sweet minstrelsy ! 

How long, oh Sootia, must I wait, 
To tune my harp to warlike deeds ; 

To make rough Morven's heights relate, 
For freedom's cause old Scotia bleeds ! 

Fill to the brim the foaming glasses, 
Let mirth and song beguile the day ; 

Come join the dance, ye bonnie lasses, 
Let jovial joy chase care away. 

E'en now I soe the warrior's plume 
That waves above a freeman's brow ; 

Has fixed base England's armies doom 
And Scotia's motto 's — freedom now ! 

Awake my harp, thy proudest lays, 
Repeat, Mingarin Halls, the sound, 

And sing of Scotia's better days 

When Bruce and freedom may be found ! 

The rest of our story is short. — 
Melvina'saunt died soon after Father 
Cuthullin. The fugitives of Mingarin 
returned to their respective homes 
when the banner of Bruce was again 
unfurled. The brave Eichard fell on 
the battle-field, fighting to the last, 
true to his father's injunction. Mel- 
vina married Albert Arinoor, and no 
nobler or braver family ever honored 
the name of Scotland than that which 
sprung from the happy union of Al- 
bert Armoor and Melvina Cuthullin. 
Every year the family "w ere accus- 
tomed to make a pious pilgrimage 
to Mingarin Castle and to drop a tear, 
sacred to its memory, on the green 
turf at the foot of Cuthullin' s Oak. 

" Still o'er the scenes my memory wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care, 

Time but the impression deeper makes 
As streams their channels deeper wear." 




It is about two centuries since the 
Albemarle region of country became 
known to the world as the perma- 
nent habitation of the white race. 
Some few years prior to that time it 
is probable that some scattered pio- 
neers had preceded any general tide 
of population, and lured by the rest- 
less spirit of adventure, the desire 
of unrestrained freedom or the tempt- 
ing chances of the fisher and the 
hunter's life, had penetrated beyond 
the homes of civilized man and set- 
tled in the unexplored wilderness 
along the northern shore of Albe- 
marle Sound. At what precise date 
the first permanent settlement of any 
consequence was made, is not known 
with exact certainty ; the scanty re- 
cords of the time, so far as they are 
yet ascertained, furnishing no accu- 
rate data by which we can determine 
the time of that event; but it is 
known that about the year 1650, a 
considerable number of persons from 
the neighboring parts of Virginia, 
belonging to the Society of Friends, 
made a permanent settlement at a 
place on Chowan Eiver, now known 
as Cannon's Ferry, and that about 
the same time the adjacent section 



of country along Albemarle Sound 
began to be settled. This was the 
germ of our country. This was the 
nucleus, around which others soon 
gathered to swell the flood tide of 
population. Dissenters from the 
church of England, differing in reli- 
gious denomination, non-conformists 
as they were there called, left Vir- 
ginia rather than conform to the re- 
ligious requirements imposed by the 
laws of that colony, and settled here. 
Quakers, whom the torch of religious 
persecution had driven from New 
England, came to find a resting place 
with their brethren in the wilderness 
where they might worship God ac- 
cording to the dictates of their own 
conscience. Planters from the newly 
settled Islands of Bermuda also came 
in search of better lands and better 
fortunes. Such were the sources 
from whence our original population 
sprung ; such the motives which im- 
pelled them hither. As in most 
countries of the globe, religious in- 
tolerance and persecution; that fruit- 
ful source of emigration, the scandal 
and reproach of Catholic and Protes- 
tant Churches, but which, in the 
providence of God, has done much 
to spread the gospel throughout the 
world, was the main, first cause of 
the settlement of the Albemarle re- 
gion ; but there was another cause 
which, a few years later, gave a new 
impulse and infused a new element 
into the population, having neither 
its origin nor connection with relig- 
ious considerations. That other 

cause was the civil contest in Vir- 
ginia familiarly known as " Bacon's 
Bebellion." The introduction of this 
cause here, anticipates my subject 
somewhat, but it occurred so soon 
after the first settlement, and had so 
great an influence, not only in swell- 
ing the population, but in the char- 
acter which it imparted thereto, that 
I prefer to enumerate it among the 
original causes which had their in- 
fluence in settling the country. In 
no other way, as I suppose, can the 
fact be accounted for, that a large 
portion of the early settlers were of 
the church of England ; for at a very 
early period the missionaries of the 
church of England were in the field 
faithfully ministering to large con- 
gregations, under their pastoral care. 
The question arises : How came they 
here, and whence came they ? Ba- 
con's Bebellion is the explanation. 
No other cause is adequate to explain 
it. The scene of that contest was 
in the James City region of Virginia 
where the population were chiefly 
of the established church ; it em- 
braced a large portion, if not a 
majority of the people, and after the 
unsuccessful issue of the contest, 
Bacon's partizans were hunted down 
and punished with unrelenting sever- 
ity, even unto death. Many of them 
escaped to the Albemarle country, 
and in the solitude of the desert found 
a safe retreat from Berkley's feroci- 
ty. Time will not permit me to 
dwell upon the history and charac- 
ter of that civil contest, with which 


I presume my readers are already 
familiar ; but as a large part of our 
early population sprang from that 
source, I will say that the tendeney 
of opinion at the present day seems 
to he to reverse the judgment of the 
past and to assign to Bacon a higher 
place in the temple of fame than we 
have hitherto been taught to give 
him ; that instead of a rebel, he was 
i patriot-hero, whose only crime was 
failure; that he was a forerunner, in 
the same line, of those great names 
of a later date in our history, whose 
deeds are upon all lips, and whose 
memories are now canonized in the 
world's calandar. Such were our 
ancestors. Those who search in their 
annals for the " pride of heraldry, 
the pomp of power, for all that beau- 
ty, all that wealth ere 'gave," must 
turn unsatisfied away. They were 
a sturdy and stalwart race ; poor in 
the world's goods, yet rich in the 
stem resolve and iron will; unlearn- 
ed, for 

•■ Knowledge to their eyes, her ample page, 
Kith with the spoils of time hail ne'er unrol'd;" 

unlearned in the winning witchery 
of a courtier's love, by which to 
" court the amorous looking glass or 
caper nimbly in a lady's chamber to 
the lascivious pleasing of a lute;" 
yet learned in that great, first, nob- 
lest lesson in the book of human 
life ; the lesson of endurence and self- 
trust. Such were the men who came 
into the wilderness to become the 
architects of their own fortunes, to 
become the founders of an empire 

and to start a new line of " heroes, 
patriots and statesmen." 

The scene now changes; thirteen 
years havepassed away since the first 
settler came, and rumors vague, of 
humble labors in his forest home, 
have reached the courtier's and the 
monarch' s ear. A vast tract of coun- 
try embracing the Albemarle region 
is granted to eight English noblemen 
who take possession of the rich prize 
which the bounty of their sovereign 
had bestowed; enact laws to govern 
those who hitherto had known no 
law but the law of their own will, 
and set the wheels of government in 
motion by appointing Win. Drum- 
mond the first governor of Albe- 
marle — •the first that ever bore that 
honored and vice-regal title within 
the bounds of North Carolina ; and 
the first name in our annals that 
rises conspicuous above the dim ho- 
rizon of the past. Who was Wm. 
Drummond ? A Scotchman bybirth ; 
a Presbyterian in faith ; grafted upon 
the soil of Virginia, thence trans- 
planted to the Albemai-le ; sedate and 
grave m his manners, ardent in his 
temperament, discreet in his conduct, 
virtuous in his life. It was his good 
fortune first to hold the highest post 
of honor. Call no man happy, saith 
the proverb, until he is dead. In 
Drummond' s life behold an illustra- 
tion of its truth. Soon after the ex- 
piration of his term of public service 
in the Albemarle, he returned to 
Virginia and found his former coun- 
try-men in arms. Cheered on by the 



encouragement of Sarah Drumniond, 
his heroic wife, he drew his claymore 
in the cause his sanguine nature had 
espoused, and called his clansmen to 
the standard of revolt. Victory 
rested upon the opposing banners, 
and with many other followers of 
Bacon's standard, Wm. Drummond 
met the last sad penalty of death 
upon the scaffold. He was tried, 
condemned, and executed all on the 
same day; and when brought out to 
execution he was mocked by Gov- 
ernor Berkley of Virginia, with the 
scoffing salutation, " Wm. Drum- 
mond, Avelcome unto death." For 
fifty years after the organization of 
a government under the administra- 
tion of Drummond, the colony in- 
creased in population, trade and ag- 
ricultural productions, receiving but 
little of the fostering care of the no- 
blemen to whom the territory had 
been granted by King Charles, ex- 
cept so far as they were incidentally 
benefitted by the active efforts of 
the proprietors to put money in their 
pockets ; cultivating the soil, court- 
ing friendly relations with the In- 
dian tribes, interrupted by occasional 
collisions of no general interest ; 
sometimes wisely and sometimes 
badly governed ; now groaning un- 
der the rapacity of an oppressive 
administration like that of Sothel, 
and then breaking into open revolt 
under the unequal pressure of Socke's 
ill-advised Constitution at one time 
joining a daring chief like Culpep- 
per, to wrest the reins of adminis- 

tration from a feeble hand like Mil- 
ler's ; but only to be worse governed 
by a more reckless ruler, sometimes 
rejoicing under a wise administration 
judiciously directed, like that under 
friend John Archdale the Quaker ; 
but despite the negligence of pro- 
prietors whose aims were not their 
country, but themselves, despite the 
rapacity of selfish and the wicked- 
ness of oppressive rulers, still pursu- 
ing the tenor of their way, and go- 
ing on to accomplish their "mani- 
fest destiny " of prosperity and pro- 
gress. Thanks to a generous soil and 
an industrious people. This period 
in the early history of Albemarle is 
replete with various incidents and 
stirring events, and well deserves 
our attention ; but the narrow limits 
of my present sketch will not allow 
me to dwell minutely upon them ; to 
awaken interest by a rapid summa- 
ry of minor events to dwell only 
upon a few of the more prominent 
and to render some tribute to th« 
memory of the noble dead whos^ 
names have suxwived the oblivioun 
touch of time, bring all that I pro- 
pose to myself at this time, and much 
more than I can hope worthily to ac- 

Fifty years have passed and th« 
little band of adventurers have ex- 
panded into a population reaching 
from the upper Chowan to the lower 
Currituck, and across the water. — 
With prosperity has come the lust, 
of power and the people are torn 
into hostile factions^ and the country 



is " dissevered, divided, rent with 
civil feuds," and every moment waits 
the shedding of fraternal blood; they 
are in the midst of a revolution, not 
altogether bloodless ; parties are 
banded under hostile leaders, with 
arms in their hands, and the excite- 
ment of civil strife is intensified by 
the addition of social and religious 
divisions ; the fields are left untend- 
ed and the plough and the pruning 
hook are exchanged for the sword ; 
and even the Quaker blots from his 
faith the humble law of sufferance 
and peace, and straps his trusty 
sword upon his thigh. Why this 
unhappy strife ? "Why this prepar- 
tion for the " clash of the resound- 
ing arms." It is the dark period in 
the history of the Albemarle, known 
as " Cary's Kebellion," a period in 
its history to that time, unparalleled 
for its violence, its enormities, and 
its lasting and pernicious conse- 
quences upon the character and pros- 
perity of the country, and now known 
as the dark and bloody time, over 
which still hangs a dark pall of ob- 
scurity and gloom. The researches 
now being made, it is hoped will re- 
move the mists which now hang 
over and veil this portion of our his- 
tory. Soon after the commencement 
of the eighteenth century, Thomas 
Gary held the office of governor of 
Albemarle. After a short time he 
was superseded by the appointment 
1 of "William Glover. At first Cary 
manifested no opposition to the sur- 
render of his office into the hands ofl 

his lawful successor ; but being insti- 
gated and sustained by a large body 
of active friends, embracing, among 
others, the entire Quaker population, 
and finding, I suppose, upon exami- 
nation that the doctrine of " rotation 
in office " was not one of the planks 
in his platform of political princi- 
ples, he determined to maintain his 
place, in defiance of authority, and 
if need be to refer its decision to 
the umpire of the sword. He seized 
the public records and retained the 
insignia of office. Glover, his oppo- 
nent, was a man of peace, of excel- 
lent conservative character, and was 
sustained by all the most consider- 
ate, respectable and law-abiding por- 
tion of the population. Cary repre- 
sented and was sustained by the 
Quakers and the sans culotte, without 
distinction of name. The two par- 
ties were now arrayed against each 
other throughout the colony. The 
struggle was unequal both in num- 
bers and in energy, and the parti- 
sans of law and order, with their 
lawful governor were overpowered 
and many of them left the country 
to return no more. Cary maintain- 
ed his usurped authority for a period 
of about seven years, when he was 
arrested and sent to England to be 
tried for treason. The memory Of 
William Glover deserves the homage 
of our true regard ; he was a good 
man who strove to save his country 
at that disjointed time, when " vice 
prevailed and wicked men bore 
sway." He did not win but merit- 



ed success and that is ample honor. 
Had his gentle counsels governed, 
"grim visaged war had smoothed 
her wrinkled front," and faction's 
voice been dumb. 

" All the ends he aimed at, 

Were his country's, God's and truth's." 

Then bear him to the niche in "fame's 
proud temple, " where sleep the 
world's forgotten great, for many 
such there be. 

In one end of the town of Eden- 
ton, tradition tells us, moulder the 
mortal remains of one, who in his 
day and generation, was the pride 
and ornament of the early Albe- 
marle, who won and wore the blend- 
ed wreath of civil and judicial honor; 
and after long years of private vir- 
tue and of public service; after 
u sounding all the depths and shoals 
of honor," went to his honored grave 
with fame undiminished and cumu- 
lating down to the falling of the last 
sad curtain — the acknowledged Che- 
valier Bayard of his day the " knight 
without fear and without reproach." 
Of the few names of that distant 
period that were not born to die — 
would they had a chronicler wortby 
of their fame — none has come to us 
with a reputation better preserved 
by cotemporary commendation, or 
more cherished by the traditionary re- 
collections of affectionate admiration 
than the name of Christopher Gale. 
Whether we regard the value and 
importance of the various service he 
rendered the infant colony, the du- 
ration of that service or the ability 

with which he discharged it, his just 
title to the character of a great man 
and a useful patriot ; and his claim 
upon the gratitude and admiration 
of cotemporary and succeeding times 
is completely vindicated. To him 
belongs the august glory of " saving 
a sinking land " — the glory of res- 
cuing from utter annihilation almost 
the entire population of the country 
in the most perilous period of its ex- 
istence. By his exertions the hor- 
rors of Indian massacre were check- 
ed, and to him is due the honor of 
having crushed in its horrible incep- 
tion, a savage tragedy which con- 
templated the destruction of all 
ages, sexes and conditions — not by 
his personal feats of valor in the 
field, for though he bore the milita- 
ry title of Major Gale, it is not 
known that he ever couched a lance 
or bared his bosom to the battle's 
rage upon the " tented field "; but 
by the timely and efficient aid which, 
through his urgent representations, 
enforced by the influence of his per- 
sonal character was obtained from a 
sister colony. I allude to the In- 
dian massacre which occurred in the 
year 1710 ; the most general, the 
most bloody, the most secretly con- 
certed, and the only combined at- 
tack, made by the Indians upon our 
early population, and which threat- 
ened entirely to exterminate the 
white race. It was joined by all the 
Indian tribes on both sides of Albe- 
marle Sound, and the work of havoc 
and destruction had already com- 



menced. By the aid obtained 
through the influence of Chief Jus- 
tice Gale, the Indians were subdued 
and the impending ruin averted. 

Such were a few of the incidents 
and,some of the cherished names in 
the history of the early Albemarle 
during the period of about seventy 
years from the time the first settle- 
ment was made. After that time 
another and loftier, and more stirr- 
ing scenes, and names invite us; but 
the space which I have prescribed 
to myself will not allow me to enter 
upon that broader and grander field. 
I have endeavored to entertain my 
readers by recurring only to that 
more distant time. If, in my imper- 
fect effort, I have succeeded in 
awakening one feeling of interest in 
that remote period — if I have caus- 
ed one heart-throb of patriotic emo- 
tion, my purpose has been accom- 
plished. It is a historic theme, which 
commends itself especially to us and 
to our children. It is a historic mine 
yet unexplored, in which we and our 
children are the appropriate laborers 
— a mine in which diligence will find 
its reward^ in which patient labor 
can render good service, and yet 

" Full many a gem'of purest ray serene," 

to deck the coronet which binds the 
brow of our ancestors, the founders 
of our country. If that ancestry 
were great and noble, how impera- 
tive and pleasing the obligation upon 
as to cherish their honored names, 
and emulate their glowine: virtues — 

if that ancestry were obscure how 
greater and still more imperative the 
obligation upon us to vindicate th eir 
fair fame, and prove by our bearing 
and our championship that rigid cir- 
cumstance and not ignoble blood, as- 
signed them the humble part they 
played in the varying drama of hu- 
man life ; if they were renowned, 
our's be the heritage and the stimu- 
lus of their renown ; if they were 
obscure, our's be the ambition to 
crown their humble virtues with an 
honored name : honored or obscure, 
renowned or humble, our fathers. 


'Twas on a winter's evening when 
all the family of old Van Hey den, 
save the old gent and his two boys 
Pete and Hans, were cosily seate* 
around the old chimney piece, i 
which a few lightwood knots, two 
or three strips of scantling and the 
like, were carrying on a dreadful 
warfare with the strong November 
blasts that in torrents were pouring 
in from every crack and corner, 
chatting about matters and times 
relative to the " oold " country when 
suddenly they were aroused by gen- 
tle taps at the door, and without any 
further warning in stepped Van 
Dyke, blowing like a Porpoise, and 
as if something serious was the mat- 
ter, bellowed out to old Bess, Van 
Heyden's beloved partner of bis joya 
and woes, in tones that made the old 
ro okery tremble, Has the old man 



come ? Now I had forgotten to men- 
tion that old Yan Heyden was ab- 
sent at a neighboring village, pur- 
chasing family groceries for a small 
country store of which he was at 
this time sole proprietor and owner. 
Being informed that the old man 
had not yet arrived, but was expec- 
ted every minute he concluded to sit 
awhile, and scarce an hour had elaps- 
ed, 'ere the familiar bark of old Trow- 
ser signified the approach of the long 
wished-for emigrants, and as soon 
as the team could be ungeered, the 
stern voice of old Yan might be heard 
calling in loud accents for his glass 
of Lager and dish of Sour Crout. — 
Quiet being once again restored Yan 
Dyke commenced his questions : 
Yell John vat's the news in town ? 
O'i, great, and they say Sebasanto- 
ple is taken. Yat ? can it be possi- 
ble that the old Sarpent they have 
been chasing this long time up north 
in the big lakes turned out to be 
nothing but a Sea-Bass. Why no 
fool, that is the name of a place in 
the old country where there has b^en 
fighting for a year and better ; be- 
sides this I hear some talk about 
Uncle Sam, as they call the govern- 
ment of Ameriky, getting into a fuss 
with a country near our u goot " old 
land. About what ? About some 
fisheries they say ; but as I don't 
know anything about politics, I can't 
tell you. Yell, but how about mine 
vife's sister, can you tell ven she's 
coming out ? Yes, I heard she would 
be with you in about a fortnight's 

Thus passed away the evening 
till about half-past twelve or one, 
when Yan Dyke was kindly invited 
to take a bed ; but being in a hurry 
to get home and inform his wife of 
the time her sister would be out, he 
politely begged to be excused, stat- 
ing that the old woman and the young 
one wou'd feel uneasy if he did not 
get back to-night. 

Next morning, bright and early, 
old John, Peter and Hans arose and 
went to unloading the wagon, in or- 
der that they may might make a 
fine display of their new goods as 
early as possible. 

Now, it happened that as the things 
were arranged along the ground,the 
old fellow having put his hands in 
his pocket to take out a knife to cut 
some string or other, out dropped a 
piece of paper, of no value as he 
thought, but having a well develop- 
ed bump of curiosity, picked it up 
and read as follows : 
John Yan Heyden, 

To Yan Pelt & Co., Dr. 
One cask of Molasses, $ 3 00 

Three boxes of Candles, ($2 

per box,) 6 00 

Sundries, 10 00 

Two boxes of Yiolins, 12 00 

One box of do 4 00 

$35 00 
Rec'd payment, 

Yan Pelt & Co. 

All this time the boys had stopped 
work and were listening attentively 
to their father, who having now fin- 



ished, told them to help examine if 
all the articles mentioned were here. 
Aye, aye, being quickly responded 
t>y the ever willing and active sons, 
old Yan proceeded to enumerate 
once more the different articles sep- 
arately, but when he came to the 
two boxes of Violins he stopped, and 
notbeing famaliarly acquainted with 
many of those liard words we fre- 
quently hear in common parlance, 
was completely astounded, exclaim- 
ing : Yat the h — 1 is dis ? Yiolins 
and Ditto? Mine got ! I never bo't 
such tings as dis : 'twas Fiddles I told 
him I vanted, and der fool has gone 
and put des in j vat in der world are 
they any way ? Hans take an axe, 
cave them in, and let's see the con- 

In obedience to the old man's com- 
mand, Hans went to work, and in 
short order smashed the boxes and 
Yiolins together, when lo ! and be- 
hold, much to the surprise of old 
John, his Yiolins turned out to be 
nothing more or less than his Fiddles . 
Though somewhat chagrined at his 
not being able to distinguish the one 
^rom the other, and quite provoked 
with himself for not having learned 
without such a loss, that Violins and 
Fiddles were both mighty near one, 
and the same thing, still he ordered 
the box of Ditto to be opened in the 
same way, and his feelings can be 
better imagined than expressed, when 
he discovered that thus, by means of 
his ignorance, all his Fiddles were 
entirely destroyed, and no sooner 

did the old fellow become somewhat 
reconciled to his misfortune, than he 
began to swear that he would forth- 
with send all his younger children 
to school in order that they might 
know the difference between Violins 
and Fiddles. 

In the course of time Miss Julia 
Fitz, for that you must know was 
the name of Yan Dyke's wife's sis- 
ter, made her appearance in the vil- 
lage, and being exceedingly fair and 
comely to look upon, as a natural 
consequence she became quite a belle, 
and created no little sensation in the 
hearts of the " Lords of Creation " 
who resided in her neighborhood, 
and were so unworthy of their high 
station, as to be duped by an angel(J) 
dressed in calico and gingham ; but 
among the rest poor Hans Yan Hey- 
den fell a victim to her charming 
looks and fascinating manners, and 
as time flew, so Hans' love increas- 
ed, until finally, doubtless thinking 

" She was a woman, therefore may be woo'd 
She was a woman, therefore may be won," 

he concluded that he could not in 
any longer without Miss July, as h< 
called her, or at least without an at 
tempt to gain her hand and the fa- 
vor of her heart, so after a few weeks 
had elapsed, he mustered up all the 
courage he had and forthwith bolte 
to the house for the purpose of poj 
ping the question. 

Miss Julia was not long in saying 
she was willing if her sister was. — 
Here Hans thought the devil was to 
pay ; nothing daunted, however, he 



concluded there could no harm arise 
from hearing what sister had to say, so 
in a day or so he called on Mrs. Van 
Dyke, explained to her in short or- 
der the object of his mission, and by 
a little persuasion got her assent. 

Everything being all right now, 
Hans was in for having the little job 
performed immediately ; but Julia, 
she wanted time to make up some 
clothes and the like. Hans, how- 
ever, objected to waiting for any 
such purpose, and told her if she de- 
sired to make clothes she could do 
that as well after as before the mar- 
riage, so finally she agreed and the 
following Thursday was set a part 
as the day for which the two should 
be made one. 

The few days intervening passed 
off heavily to Hans, and no doubt 
seemed longer than the fourteen 
years for which Jacob labored for 

Thus far up to the evening before 
the wedding day everything looked 
fair and promising. Hans retired 
to bed early with the hope of get- 
tingagood night's rest; but somehow 
or other he never was so restless in 
his life ; he shut his eyes with all his 
might and tried to think of sheep 
jumping over a wall, but do all he 
could sleep wouldn't come. 

Before midnight the door s an d win- 
dows began to rattle with a heavy 
wind, Hans got up and looked out — 
it was dark and cloudy. Presently 
flashes of lightning were seen and 
heavy thunder came rolling from the 

clouds, echoing among the hills, and 
in half an hour the rain "descended 
in torrents and beat upon the house 
top." It will soon be over thought 
Hans, and the air will be beautiful 
to-morrow, as sweet as a rose, what 
a fine day we will have. 

Contrary to his expectations tho' 
hour after hour passed, and the rain 
still came down in floods. Hans 
again arose, paced the floor 'till day- 
light, opened the windows, every- 
thing seemed swamped. 

Nine, ten, eleven o'clock came and 
still there was no abatement to the 
incessant showers. Twice Hans had 
been through the rain up to Van 
Dyke's to see how things were get- 
ting on, everyone looked sad ; but 
Miss Julia said she had faith that it 
would clear up yet, and sure enough 
about dinner time everything was 
as clear as could be. 

Now, you must know, all wore 
members of the Sag Nicht order, and 
it was agreed that no one but old 
Squire Gable should perform the mar- 
riage ceremony, so accordingly the 
guests commenced assembling at Mr. 
Van Dyke's about two o'clock, as 
they wanted to have everything over 
by dark, and in about half an hour 
after all had become quiet, the old 
Squire stepped forward, and with 
the following ceremony which he had 
prepared for the occasion, commenc- 
ed exercises : 

Yon bromish now, you goot man dare, 
Vat stands upon de vloor, 
To hap dish voman for your vife, 
And lub her evermore. 



To feed her veil mit Sour Crout, 
Peans, puttermilk, and cheese, 
And in all tings to lend your aid, 
Pat vill promote her ease. 

Yes, and you voman, standing dare, 
Do pledge your vord dish tay, 
Dat you '11 take for your husband 
Dish man, and him opey. 

Dat you '11 bed and board mit him, 
Vash, iron, and ment his clothes, 
Laf ven he shmiles, veep ven he sighs, 
Dus share his shoys and voes. 

Veil den I now mitin dese vails, 
Mit shoy and not mit krief, 
Pronounce you both to be one mint, 
Von name, von man, von peep. 

I boobliah now des secured panns, 
Dese matrimonial ties, 
Pefore mine vife, Bet, Kate and Poll, 
And all dese gazen eyes. 

And as de sachred shriptureB shay, 
Vat God unites togedder, 
Let no one dare ashunder put, 
Let no man tare dem sever. 

And you bridekroom dare, you shlop, 
I'll not let go your kollar, 
Pefore you anshur me dish ting, 
Dat ish, vare ish mine tollar. 

For you no tink I come 
For marry you two togedder 
Mitou t me get der monish, 
^ To fted mine vife and darter. 

" The matrimonial rites having been 
gone through with all due form, the 
company fell to paying their vows 
at the shrine of Epicurus, and at 
dark they all departed and left the 
twain to enjoy the pleasures of mat- 
rimonial bliss. 


JJ6P* There have been seven enu 
mer&tions of the inhabitants of the 
.United States, to wit - — 

No . .of Papulation 

Census of 1790 „....., w ...8(020,827 

« 1800 ,5,805.925 

« 1810 :,%,tm,su 

" 1820 9,638,131 

" 1830 „ v 12,866,020 

" 1840 17,069,463 

* 1850 u ,„„„^„, .,„„ 23 191,876 


"O, wad some pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see ourselves as others see us ! 
It wad from monie a blunder free us 
And foolish notion." 

It is usually customary in our 
country for all writers and speakers 
of this age to introduce themselves 
to their readers by apostrophising 
the fast era we live in j so Young 
America finds himself attacked by 
Young America on all sides. We 
hope, however, we will be pardoned 
by our dear readers, if instead of ex- 
pressing forebodings as to where this 
lightning rapidity of our progress 
is to land us, we actually have the 
hardihood to say that in some res- 
pects we are behind the times. 

It is true that our Universities and 
Colleges have always been the faith- 
ful guardians of all customs, sacred 
on account of their antiquity and the 
salutary influence which their long 
practice has exercised over their res- 
pective institutions, and that they 
are always the first to cry out against 
innovation and to expose humbugs j 
yet on this very account we are not 
sure, but they are sometimes the 
panderers of old prejudices, and the 
most formidable opponents of new 
inventions and theories ; so if the 
plan which we are about to propose 
should not meet with the immediat 
approbation of our learned Prof eg 
sors, we will not attribute its failui 
to any lack of wisdom or propriety 



in the plan itself. When in coming 
years this humble sheet shall have 
passed from the memory of men and 
many of its readers be covered with 
the mouldering turf, and when, per- 
haps, our system, which may now be 
cast aside with scarce a passing no- 
tice, will be universally received and 
adopted in all the Colleges through- 
out the country, we would simply re- 
mind those who are to write the his- 
tory of this age, not to forget that 
we were the first to make the propo- 
sition. We don't know that we have 
ever heard it suggested before, not 
because the necessity does not ap- 
pear to every one, but for some cause 
or other, certainly not very credita- 
ble to the sagacity of those wise 
heads who are planning our new 
improvements, namely that the new 
building which is so soon to be erected 
should be commenced with the view 
of making it a large and commodi- 
ous nursery, with all its appendages 
andappurtenences. How many sleep- 
less nights and long drawn sighs for 
the dear little absent one would be 
spared to many a tender mother by 
knowing that her boy had a faithful 
nurse with him at College,who could 
always be near him to put on his 
breeches in the morning and attend 
to his toilet, and to prevent him from 
eating too much fruit and too many 
sugar-plums, and guard him from 
many other indiscretions to which 
he would be liable. Even our learn- 
ed Faculty might enjoy their rest at 
night without being interrupted by 

so much bell ringing in the campus, 
and be saved the trouble and pain 
of many an official conference in the 
evening after prayers, for the pur- 
pose of administering discipline to 
to some sad-sad fellow, who every 
body says has been incorrigibly ruin- 
ed at College. Yes, we have seen 
many of these redoubtable young 
heroes, who could with dauntless air 
and unruffled mien undertake the 
most perilous expeditions against 
henroosts, recitation room furniture, 
and burning effigies when even de- 
tected and brought before the Facul- 
ty, would maintain still an unblench- 
ing countenance ; but wmld quail 
and sink down in humble submission 
at the bare idea of a good spanking, 
administered as a punishment for 
such misdemeanors. Now if such a 
system would be attended with these 
salutary effects, why do we never 
hear of any proposition being made 
to adopt it ? That the Professors 
have a perfect right to the full exer. 
cise of the spanking privilege cannot 
be denied according to the strictest 
construction of the law; for they are 
" in loco parentis." Many a boy who 
cares nothing for suspensions and 
dismissals, because he cannot appre* 
ciate the disgrace attendant on them, 
would thus have punishment brought 
down to a tangible form,which could 
be appreciated by the most obtuse 
among us. 

We have now been connected with 
the University for over three years, 
and out of every class that has grad- 



uated since we have been here, more 
than two-thirds of its members were 
at the time under twenty-one years 
of age, and perhaps a majority under 
eighteen. Now we do not pretend 
to say that this is too young to re- 
ceive a degree ; but besides these, 
there is always in every class a num- 
ber who are still younger. "When 
parents persist in sending their sons 
here before they have arrived at that 
age when an education can be appre- 
ciated, whose tault is it if they are 
ruined? If, instead of applying them- 
selves to their text books, and stor- 
ing their minds with useful knowl- 
edge, they are perfecting themselves 
in those arts which might be learned 
just as well, and certainly with much 
less expense at any common village 
inn. It seems to us that if boys were 
kept at home, or some good prepar- 
atory school until they had their 
habits more fixed, and had acquired 
Borne good moral principle, (for cer- 
tainly College is no place to acquire 
them,) we would not hear so much 
complaint made that boys are ruined 
at the University. When we see a 
father, instead of trying to inculcate 
right principles and true moral vir- 
tue on his son at home, when his 
young plastic heart is so easily im- 
pressed by the potent influence of a 
mother's or father's teachings, send- 
ing him here to be assailed by all the 
dangerous influences among which 
he will be thrown, and he, too, a man 
who has been a student himself and 
knows the danger to which one so 

young will be exposed, we are con- 
strained to believe that it is not an 
oversight, but almost seems to be in- 
difference to his son's welfare. There 
is no spectacle that can be witnessed 
at College more disgusting and heart 
rending than to see a boy, who from 
his size and appearance, would seem 
scarcely old enough to be released 
from his mother's apron string, as- 
suming all the airs and endeavoring 
to acquire the reputation of an aban- 
doned profligate. Some boys, who 
were noted for their dissipated hab- 
its before, have really changed this 
course and became steady and indus- 
trious on seeing such an exhibition 
as this. "We think that no one will 
say that College is the place to in- 
culcate moral principles and cultivate 
habits of rectitude. If these are not 
learned at home, no man can expect 
his son to improve them here, hence 
the folly of sending boys to College 
who have proved so idle and refrac- 
tory at home, that their parents find 
it difficult to manage them and send 
them away more to be freed from the 
trouble and anxiety which they have 
when immediately under their con- 
trol, than that they expect them to 
be improved. 

Now what is the reason of all this ? 
and why, instead of seeing the whole 
body of students present a dignifiec 
and manly appearance do we fine 
each successive class becoming more 
and more puerile. Is it not the 
common belief that young men, by 
graduating so soon are prepared to 



begin life that much sooner than 
their other classmates who are farth- 
er advanced in life ? But are they, at 
eo tender an age, prepared to assume 
the responsibilities, and to build for 
themselves a reputation in profes- 
sional life, to launch forth into the 
turbulent ocean of life without the 
skill to successfully encounter, or 
the prudence to shun the inevitable 
dangers to which they will be expos- 
ed ? When we come to look over the 
catalogue of those names that have 
reflected most credit on their Alma 
Mater,we find those of whom we are 
most justly proud, received their 
degree at a considerably advanced 
age. Mr. Polk, than whom no oth- 
er Alumnus ever arrived at a higher 
political position, did not graduate 
until twenty-seven years of age ; and 
yet, do we ever hear of his having 
at any time complained of the time 
he lost by not coming to College 
younger ? 

It is customary when a boy grad- 
uates and is too young to begin the 
etudy of a profession,or to commence 
business, to spend two or three years 
of leisure, either at home or perhaps 
lounging about some little country 
town. ► Now, if young gentlemen 
were in the habit of traveling in for- 
eign countries, or extensively in our 
Own, it would certainly be a great 
advantage to have so much leisure 
time ; but the pecuniary condition of 
h large'portion of us is such, that it 
is not possible to take such a tour. 
We never have heard of one who had 

considerable time at his disposal af- 
ter he left College that was much 
benefitted by the manner in which 
he disposed of it. They, not having 
anything particularly to occupy their 
minds are apt to fall into dissipation, 
certainly they will be engaged on 
that interesting occupation which 
now finds employment for a consid- 
erable portion of the human race, 
viz : killing time; and some have even 
acquired such proficiency in it during 
this short time that they have never 
commenced any other pursuit in life. 
There is, however, a considerable 
class of the community who would 
be thrown almost out of employment 
if Chapel Hill students did not have 
some time to throw away; and that 
class are those young ladies who glo- 
ry in the name of "flirts," whose 
imagination is so finely cultivated 
that they can construe a compliment, 
a sly glance of the eye, or a thought- 
less remark into an actual proposal. 
These precious fair ones are not now 
like in the days of old Solomon found 
sitting in the " doors of their houses;" 
but in this advanced and polite age 
they confine themselves to the win- 
dows "to lure to their doom," all 
young fellows who may be so unfor- 
tunate as to pass that way. 


"We subjoin below a letter of the 
great Southern statesman which has 
never been in print before. It was 
addressed to a gentleman in the wes- 
tern part of the State, a coloric 



Democrat, who seeing Mr. C. ma- 
ligned, and accused of changing his 
political principles, addressed him a 
letter, to which the one below is an 
answer. We have no doubt but that 
it will be read with interest by many 
of our subscribers : 

Tort Hill, 9th April, 1847. 

Diar Sir: — Regarding you to be one entertaining 
strong political attachment to me, as you style yourself 
to be, I answer you as a friend. 

If to be devoted to popular institutions ; if to belieye 
lu the principles and policy which brought the Republi" 
can party into power under Mr. Jefferson ; if to prefer 
country to party, and daro to oppose party, when party 
deviates from its principles or policy, is to be a Repub- 
lican, then am I one and ever have been, and never 
more so than now. 

I had supposed that I had given too many and trying 
proofs of my Republicanism, judged by those tests, to 
have my Republicanism doubted at this late day. I 
have often before opposed the party when in power, to 
gave both it and the country. I have often before been 
denounced by partizans and party papers for doing so ; 
but time has ever, as it will ever pJ'oye me to be in the 
right. It has been my fate to oppose the party when in 
power and full strength, r.nd to come to its rescue when 
fallen, or out of power. It is again in a fair way, I ap- 
prehend, to lose power, because it has greatly departed 
from its original faith, and embraced the principles and 
policy of its opponents to a far greater extent than is 
supposed by those who have not carefully watched the 
course of events. The Republican party would eyer tri- 
umph and never be in danger if true to its principles 
and policy. I would say to you and other political 
friends, who may have given too hasty an ear to the 
abuse of mere partizans and party papers, who go with 
party right or wrong, wait and see. To time I always 
appeal against their clamour. I enclose you a copy of 
my address to the citizens of Charleston. 
With great respect, 
I am, &c, &c, 




Since the issue of our last we have 
received the admirable address of our 
commencement orator, and we would 
commend it to the careful perusal of 
all our readers, and advise every one 
who can to procure a copy. It 
breathes the spirit of true Southern 

patriotism, and regards the position 
of the Southern people in the right 
light, and while he sa,js : " That to 
rescue those great blessings which 
we enjoy as a people, from the perils 
which environ them, there must be 
called into action the most sleepless 
vigilence, unceasing energy, and in- 
domitable courage of the wise, the 
good and patriotic of the land," to 
the consideration of this great sub- 
ject he invites our attention and 
while he warns us to approach the 
subject with "no partizan feelings 
or sectional prejudices "; yet he af- 
terwards tells us that " there is a 
point of endurence beyond which 
forbearance becomes cowardice and 
submission a crime." The speech ia 
not only worthy of our attention on 
account of its high merit as a piece of 
literary composition ; but the princi- 
ples which it contains should receive 
the hearty approbation of every 
Southern man. We forbear any far- 
ther remarks, as we suppose most of 
our readers have a copy of the ad- 
dress, and we do not think that we 
could add anything to its justly 
great reputation by any encomium 
of our own. 

We would mention, in connection 
with this subject, that the fourth 
volume of Irving' s Life of Washing- 
ton, which came out a short time 
ago, is of more interest to the South- 
ern reader than any of the other 
volumes, as it is principally a histo- 
ry of the war in the Southern States ; 
but we agree with Mr. Miller, that 

editorial Table. 


the notice of North Carolina and the 
Mecklenburg Declaration is meagre 
and cold indeed. Notwithstanding 
his injunction that it should never be 
forgotten, that at Mecklenburg, in 
the heart of North Carolina, was 
fulminated the first declaration of 
independence," the author seems to 
have contributed a very small share 
in four lines in a work of four octavo 
volumes to perpetuate its memory. 

The following letter was received 
a short time since, and although the 
author is not known to us, we would 
not be surprised if we could give a 
pretty shrewd guess. There are some 
parts of it that we would willingly 
cut out, on account of its personali- 
ty to some of our fellow students ; 
but as it would materially alter the 
sense we forbear from eliminating any 
portion of it, and submit it to our 
readers without farther apology : 

N. C. August 12th, 1857. 

Messrs. Editors : — During your last vacation, there 
came into our quiet neighborhood three or four of your 
students from the University, from the effects of whose 
influence, I fear we will not recover, lo these many 
months. It was on one of those sultry eveuings in 
June, when they made their appearance, and soon the 
■whole village was in an uproar of excitement to know 
who they were,as is generally the case on the arrival of 
utrangers, and especially such as your students were, 
and on such elegant steeds asthey rode which put me 
very much in mind of Chancer's description of the Ox- 
ford's students horse in his Canterbury Talcs. Various 
were the conjectures as to whom they could be and what 
was their business in our part of the country? for by 
this time almost all the loungers and gentlemen of leis- 
ure in the village had collected in the porch of the Tav- 
ern. Every one had some way of accounting for the 
phenomenon. Dr. I. thought they must be land specu- 
lators hunting warrants. Mr. H., the stoore-keeper, 
thought they were Mrs. White's relatives from the West. 
Mrs. Jones, the landlady, said " no doubt they were 
l .'orto Crayon and his crew, who I hear has been down 
he country drawing picters of eels and tarapins and 

ugly men and women, and putting them in a book to 
make lite of North Carolina Now he's not got to draw 
pictures of any thing about this house." But the mur- 
mur of voices which had now almost rose to an uproar 
was suddenly hushed by the appearance of the young 
gentlemen themselves, who had been shown to their 
rooms to have their clothes dusted, and re-arrange their 
dress, and as the crowd made room to let them pass out, 
all eyes being now intently fixed on them, the young 
gentlemen passed out arm in arm, and walking up 
street marched straight into the grocery. When Col. 
A. who had been standing in the crowd all this time 
leaning against the door post, but had not spoko a word 
before, as he looked knowingly out of the corner of his 
eyes, and hi3 lip was observed to curl with a half sar- 
castic smile, said that he knew they were Chapel Hill 
students and no mistake, fur he had been there himself. 
All doubt who they were was now put an end to by 
the arrival of one of your students who resides in this 
place and had been absent that day in the country. He 
immediately recognised them all as particular Mends 
of his and seemed very glad to see them. The excite- 
ment occasioned by the arrival which had hitherto been 
confined to the male inhabitants and some few of the 
elder ladies, now extended to that better part of the 
population of every village, the young ladies. Yes, ''there 
are actually four live Ciiapel Hill students in town." The 
news spread like the alarm of fire, and little darkies 
might be seen dashing back and forth across the street 
with delicate little pink billet-doux between the thumb 
and fore finger. I could not express the cause of so 
much correspondence in fewer words than by enclosing 
you one of these identical notes themselves which has 
fallen into my possession no matter how, so it was hon- 
orably obtained : 

Dear Jane : They have come at last. I told you that 
I knew it would not be all talk this time. What shall 
I do ? You know the last stage brought me no package 
so that 1 have not received the new dress yet. I really 
don't think I can survive it another year in this place, 
such a miserable out of the way place as it is. Nothing 
to be had that's fit to wear nearer than Salisbury or 
Charlotte. How foolish I was not to have worn my 
plain muslin, as you advised me, to that horrible pic-nic 
the other day, instead of my beautiful silk, which was 
ruined by the shower we were caught in on our return. 
Do come over to see me this evening, I am in such a 
quandary. I don't believe there is a stick of whalebone 
in town, and you know that great awkward gawk, Tom 
White, broke both our skirts when he sit down between 
us on the sofa the other day at his mothers, so I fear we 
will obtain the sobriuquet of "all the way of a size " 
from the new beaux. I suppose we will have to put off 
our trip to the monntain unless they will accompany us, 
for you know it would not look right to leavejust when 
they arrived. Yours, 

Mary Annoy. 

Next day was Sunday and of course they all appeared 
at church in their best ; and the girls, I never saw them 



look moro lovely, each sylphlike form was arrayed in its 
feirest plumage, each ruby lip was wreathed with its 
most bewitching smile ; nor did I think they need enter. 
tain any fears of obtaining the cognomen hinted at in 
the note I have quoted, as each one compressed hor am. 
pie retundity in order to squeeze herself into her pew # 
I would not complain of the conduct of the young gen- 
tlemen in church, but I think they might kept their 
eyes more steadily fixed on the minister, for I dare say 
some of the number did not see him at all during the- 
service, judging from the direction in which their gazej 
was continually turned. The girls also, although re- 
strained considerably by stern looks of mother's and 
aunt's, might be observed to exchange occasional sly 
glances with the well dressed, good looking young men 
stitting just opposite them. 

The next week was one of unusual lostivity for our 
town, which was the week of the Fourth of July. Eve- 
ry one soemed " high up " for making the fete as fine as 
possibly ; some one suggested a ball, and a ball we must 
have. In vain did the Circuit rider fulminate his bulls 
of excommunication against all who dared cither to at- 
tend or countenance such an unholy scene. Ilad we all 
been zealous Catholics even a decree from the Vatican 
would not have altered our intention when once fixed. 
Capt. Crook,(the bean Brummell of our country,) was 
chosen ball-managerissimo and master of ceremonies on 
the occasion, and well did he acquit himself in all 
matters of doubtful propriety, for he seemed to feel the 
responsibility of his position; and he might have been 
seen on the morning previous to the ball, going around 
the village cheering the timid and restraining the too 
enthusiastic. Well, it came off at last. Yes, and they 
all came to the ball in spite of the remoustranc es of 
Bister Betsey and many others, who held up their hands 
in holy horror at the bare mention of such an outrage, 
so the Capt. prevailed against all obstacles and brought 
the event to a final consummation. In vain would I 
attempt to picture the scene that followed, to tell of all 
the beauty and charms displayed, of the battles fought 
and won and conquosts made, of the mutual tokens and 
pledges of love exchanged on that night ; in fine to tell 
of dresses torn and hearts forlorn would make my let- 
ter as large as a Congressional document. Now, you 
would not expect a man who had been an actor in the 
Trench revolution to give an impartial and disinterested 
account of the events and scenes that transpired during 
that eventful period, so I living in the immediate neigh- 
borhood^ participator in the scene myself, and surround- 
ed now by the excitement and prejudice that it still 
continues to produce, could not be expected to give an 
altogether clear and impartial description of our Fourth 
of July ball, Anno Domino, eighteen hundreed and fifty 
seven ; but that you may not be altogether ignorant as 
to how it was conducted, I Bend you one of the pro- 
grammes which were stuck up around town by Capt. C. 
on the previous evening : 

The ball will open at precisely half-post eight o'clock. 
Ladies and Gentlemen will please be punctual to tho 

All having on shoes and stockings can dance in the 
quadrill. Those with shoes and no stockings can dance 
in eight-handed reels ; but tho barefoot crowd must con- 
fine themselves to the porch and out side of the windows 
and cut the double-shuffle. 

The manner in which your boys acquitted themselves 
on the occasion was truly admirable. They, it is true, 
cut none of your fancy steps, but the real straight for- 
ward sobersided dancing which showed they had not 
been wasting their valuable time learning to dance.— 
One or two, however, seemed to be a little absent mind- 
ed, for there was a lady standing at the head of the 
room on whom both their eyes seemed to be constantly 
rivited, and i f either of them were dancing with hor the 
other was apt to tread on his partner's dress, or run 
plump against the lady just opposite. This, however, 
was not a source of very great inconvenience for it was 
an occurrence which so frequently happened that final- 
ly no notice was taken of it. I cannot leave this sub- 
ject without mentioning my own personal participation 
in this fete. A great historian and philosopher has said 
" no man can speak long of himself without vanity, 
therefore, I shall be brief," for the same reason I shall 
tell my adventures in as few words as possible. Belt 
known to you, my dear Editors, that it was the first 
time your humble correspondent ever attempted to court 
the " muse of the many twinkling feet," and how I ac- 
quitted myself modestly forbids me to say. I had the- 
advantago of most of the other gentlemen, for I engaged 
several sets with a certain lady beforehand, but some 
how or other every time my set came on she had to ro 
tire to arrange some part of her paraphernalia, and as 
soon as she returned some one of "them impudent 
Chapel Hill boys " as she called them would have her to 
dance with him, so I did not dance with her at all ; but 
she has since assured me that she was excessively an- 
noyed by them, and that she had rather dance with me 
than any of the whole crew, which has completely recon- 
ciled me. 

When the effects of this ball will cease to be felt in our 
vicinity no one at present can form any adequate idea, 
and so it is impossible to determine whether it will even- 
tually be a benefit or an injury to us. It certainly has 
produced a considerable revolution in affairs in general, 
which may prove of a salutary influence in awakening 
the energy and drawing out the resources of the coun- 
try ; but then there are some family feuds which have 
been created and revived, which I fear will prove almost 
as relentless as the wars of the roses, so I do not know 
whether to attribute the visit of your marauders to a 
good or bad omen. Nor do I think they came off alto- 
I gether unscathed, and I would not be surprised, if you 
I observo closely, if you would not see certain individuals 
| walking about with down-cast looks and endeavoring to 



ihun company ; and showing those evident signs of In. 
nucy, that is wearing dirty linen, writing poetry and 
lore letters. 

Well, Messrs. Editors, I would like to tell yon some- 
thing more about it, but I fear you will scarcely find 
room for this, so I conclude by subscribing myself, 


Fashionable dressed women have 
now at the watering places a diame- 
ter of precisely twelve feet. Geome- 
tricians can calculate the circumfer- 
ence. They hold on to the arms of 
their cavaliers by means of hand- 
kerchiefs slipped through the same, 
and are helped to bouquets and re- 
freshments by means of w r aiters at- 
tached to the end of loner sticks. 

To gain the name of having great 
talents throw away the little you 
have. Let a clever fellow get drunk 
every little w T hile and make an 'ass' 
of himself, and he is the best speak- 
er, the best w T riter, and would take 
first if he would only keep sober. 

We express our sincere thanks to 
the authors for " The Early history 
of the Albemarle Eegion," and " Hus- 
band Hunting/' in our present num- 
ber. The former should be read with 
interest by every North Carolinian, 
and especially by those from the 
Eastern portion of the State. The 
latter, although we would tain be- 
lieve it to be a fiction of the author's 
distempered imagination, yet when 
brought to the test of our limited 
experience proves to be " more truth 
than poetry." 


We are happy to announce that 
one of our old College friends, Henri 
W. Sessions, of La., was married on 
the 11th of August, by the Eev. 
Thomas Lynch, to Miss Adelaide 
Morrow, of Orange. 

In Pickens County, Alabama, at 
the residence of Andrew 7 Lyon, Esq., 
Aug. 20th, Mr. Jas. H. Williamj, of 
Warren County, N. C. to Miss Sue 
E. Lyon. 

It will thus be seen that our friend 
James has released his hold on single 
wretchedness and become a happy 
man. We can hardly find language 
sufficient to offer our hearty congrat- 
ulations to him on his blessed change. 
May his whole life be " one long 
summer day of happiness," and his 
brightest anticipations be realized in 
the sunshine of reciprocal love. 


Philanthropic Hall. 

Whereas, It has pleased Divine 
Providence to remove from this life 
James C. Dobbin, late Secretary of 
the Navy, the Philanthropic Socie- 
ty, sharing in the general sorrow 
which this melancholy event must 
produce, is desirous of manifesting 
its sensibility on this occasion ; there- 

Resolved, That, as members of a 
Society to which he ever evinced the 
strongest attachment, and as young 
men, who duly appreciated the fea- 
tures of his character, we do sincere- 
ly lament the death of one, who, 
while among us, ever stood as a liv- 



ing example of what a man and a 
christian ought to be ; and now that 
the Silver Cord has been loosed, the 
Golden Bowl broken, we may well 
be proud of him even as he lies in 
death, for it affords us no little pleas- 
ure to know that in that he is dead, 
he dieth not to insignificance and 
forgetfulness, but ever will live in 
the hearts of the people of his coun- 
try, endeared to them as he was, by 
ties which eternity alone can sever. 
Resolved, That we deeply sympa- 
thize with the bereaved family, par- 
ticipating entirely in the feeling 
which follows them into retirement, 
and as a testimony of our high ap- 
preciation of him, whose loss they 
now mourn, do offer to them in be- 
half of the Ehilanthropic Society 
the expression of our sincerest re- 
gret under their deep affliction, trust- 
ing that Eve, who has promised to be 
a " Father to the Fatherless," and 
whose hand '-tempers the wind to 
the shorn lamb," may bring to their 
relief the consolations of religion, 
and the satisfaction to be imparted 
by an assurance that of the illustri- 
ous deceased, as an honored member, 
a citizen, or a patriot- 

" None knew him but to lore him, 
None named him hut to praise." 

Resolved, That a copy of these 

Resolutions be sent to the family of 

the deceased, University Magazine, 

Ealeigh Standard, Wilmington and 

Fayetteville papers with a request 

that they be published. 


B, B. SHANNON, | : 




At a meeting of the Students of the 
N. C. University, held in the Chapel 
on Monday evening August 17th,— 
G. S. Baker was called to the Chair, 
and a Committee appointed to form 
Eesolutions expressive of their sor- 
row at the sudden death of WILL- 
IAM EITTMAN of Florida, who had 
recently left his Southern home, to 
become a fellow-Student in this Uni- 
versity. Messrs. Ely, White, John- 
son and Bell were appointed the 
Committee, by whom the following 
resolutions were reported and adop- 
ted :— 

Resolved, That the sudden death 
of our friend Wm. T. Eittman, has 
afflicted us with feelings of the heav- 
iest grief, and, that while we bow 
with resignation to the will of Prov- 
idence, we cannot but deplore the 
loss of one just beginning his career 
among us and bidding fair, by his 
lovely character, to secure for him- 
self a station of credit and happiness. 

Resolved, That amid the deep sor- 
row that surrounds us, we find some 
consolation in the firm beliel that 
his deportment in this life has gain- 
ed its reward in the next, and that 
he has left us for a better land. 

Resolved, That we tender our heart- 
felt sympathies to the bereaved moth- 
er, who will soon be startled by the 
afflicting intelligence that her son, 
who but a little before, had parted 
with her in such buoyancy of spirit 
has been stricken down by death. 

Resolved, That copies of these res- 
olutions be forwarded to the Mariana 
(Florida) Patriot, University Maga- 
zine and Chapel Hill Gazette for pub- 
lication, and also that a copy be sentj 
to the mother of the deceased. 

JOHN E. ELY, ! 9 

E. S. J. BELL. 




1. Husband Hunting, 41 

2. Poetry, 49 

3. Sayings and Doings at our Club, 51 

4. Cutbullin's Oak — a Eomance of Scotland, 62 

5. Early History of tbe Albemarle Eegion, 70 

6. A Dutch "Wedding, 76 

7. Editorial Table, 80 

The Magazine is published about the tenth of every 
month except January and July. 

The present volume will contain, besides what is oth- 
erwise interesting, an address on the " Life and Times 
of Gov. Caswell," several interesting political letters of 
Nathaniel Macon, before unpublished, and a biographi- 
cal sketch of Gen. William Lenoir. The Magazine is 
published in the village under the immediate supervision 
of the Editors, so that the proof* sheets of all articles 
are carefully corrected before going to press ; and con- 
tributors can now be assured that their productions will 
appear as they were written. 

Terms $2 per annum, invariably in Advance. Any 
person sending us five new subscribers and ten dollars, 
will receive a copy gratis. 

Address Editors of the University Magazine, Chapel 
Hill, N. C. . 

m vol. vii 

No 3. r 





M$fax 4 1857, 








W. C. LORD, 

E. S. BELL, 


OCTOBER, 1857. 

NO. 3 


A very brief sketch of the life of 
Nathaniel Macon and of Bartlett 
Yancey may be interesting to a ma- 
jority of our readers, and will serve 
as an introduction to the following 

Nathaniel Macon was born in 
Warren County, N. C, in 1757. 

From the^early age of eighteen, 
his firmness, his patriotism, his de- 
votion to duty and disregard of of- 
fice and emolument ; his modesty, 
integrity, self-control, and subjec- 
tion of conduct to the convictions 
of reason and the dictates of virtue, 
all so steadily exemplified in a long 
life, were all shown in the minia- 

ture representation of individual 
action, and only confirmed in the 
subsequent public exhibitions of a 
long, beautiful, and exalted career. 
He was a student at Princeton 
College at the time of the Declara- 
tion of American Independence. — 
A small volunteer corps was then 
on the Delaware. He laid aside his 
books, joined it, served a term, re- 
turned to Princeton and resumed 
his studies. In 1778, the war was 
raging in the Southern States, and 
help was needed there. Mr. Macon 
quit College, returned to his native 
county, joined as a private in a mil- 
itary company commanded by his 



brother, and marched to South Car- 
olina, then the theatre of the ene- 
;nry's operations. He had his share 
in all the hardships and disasters of 
that trying time ; was at the fall of 
Fort Moultre, surrender of Char- 
leston, defeat at Camden, and in 
the rapid winter retreat across the 
upper part of North Carolina. In 
the camp on the left bank of the 
Yadkin at the flooding of the river, 
.destitute of everything and with 
gloomy prospects.ahead, a summons 
came to Mr. Macon from the Gov- 
ernor, requiring him to attend a 
meeting of the General Assembly, 
Qf which, without his knowledge, 
he had been elected a member. He 
at first refused to go, but General 
Greene, who had been apprised of 
the fact, sent for the young soldier 
and soon worked him into a differ- 
ent conclusion. The view of duty 
and usefulness which he pressed was 
decisive. Mr. Macon obeyed the 
summons, and by his representa- 
tions contributed to obtain the -sup- 
plies which enabled Green to turn 
back and face Cornwallis, fight him, 
cripple him, drive him further back 
than he had advanced (for Wilming- 
ton is south of Camden), disabled 
him from remaining in .the South 
(of which up to the battle of Guil- 
ford he believed himself to be mas- 
ter,) and sending him to Yorktown 
where he was captured, and the war 
ended. Mr. Macon remained in the 
army three years as a private, and 
xefused to receive pay for his ser- 

vices or to accept a promotion. 

The philosophy of history has not 
yet laid hold of the battle of Guil- 
ford, its consequences and effect.}. 
That battle made the capture at 
Yorktown. The events are told in 
every history : their connection and 
dependence in none. 

How much this splendid result 
depended upon Mr. Macon's exer- 
tions in the General Assembly of 
North Carolina in behalf of Green's 
little army, our readers may judge 
for themselves. 

The military life of Mr. Macon 
finished with his departure from the 
camp on the Yadkin, and his civil 
public career commenced on his 
arrival at the General Assembly to 
which he had been summoned — 
that civil public life in which he 
was continued above party years 
by (free election — than which _a lon- 
ger period of .continuous .service ia 
not presented by any one in theei 
tire history of our country. He 
was representative in Congress un- 
der Washington, Adams, Jefferson, 
and .Madison, and long the Speaker 
of the House ; Senator in Congres 
under Madison, Monroe and Joki 
Qnincy Adams, and often electee 
President of the Senate and unti 
voluntarily declining; twice refus- 
ing to be Post Master General un- 
der Jefferson ; never taking any of- 
fice but that to which he was elec- 
ted ; and resigning his last senato- 
rial term when it was only half run. 
When he refused a seat in the Cab- 



net he accepted the office of justice 
of the peace. He declined becom- 
ing a candidate for the Vice Presi- 
dency, but took the place of elector 
on the Van Buren ticket in 1886. 
His political principles were deep 
rooted, innate, subject to no change 
and to no machinery of party. He 
was democratic in the broad sense 
of the word, as signifying a capac- 
ity in the people for self-govern- 
ment ; and in its party sense, as in 
favor of a plain and economical ad- 
ministration of the federal govern- 
ment, and against latitudinarian 
constructions of the constitution. 
He venerated Washington; admired 
the varied abilities and high quali- 
ties of Hamilton ; and esteemed 
and respected the eminent federal 
gentlemen of his time. He had af- 
fectionate regard for Madison and 
Monroe ; but Mr. Jefferson was to 
him the full and perfect exemplica- 
tion of the republican statesman. — 
His almost fifty years of personal 
and pohtical friendship and associ- 
ation with Mr. Bandolph is histori- 
cal. x He was the early friend of 
General Jackson, and intimate with 
him when a Senator under the ad- 
ministration of the elder Adams. — 
He was the kind observer of the 
conduct of young men. He was 
just in all things, and in that most 
difficult of all things, judging polit- 
ical opponents. He spoke frequent- 

1 In his will, written before his duel with Mr. Clay, 
Mr. Randolph left Mr. Macon some English shillings 
,- m tokens of his esteem and friendship. 

ly in Congress, always to the point 
and briefly and wisely. 

Philosophic in his temperament 
and wise in his conduct, governed 
in all his actions by reason and 
judgment, and deeply imbued with 
Bible images, this v,irtuous and pat- 
riotic man, whom Mr. Jefferson 
called " the last of the Bomans," in 
the middle of a third senatorial 
term, and in the fuH possession of 
all his faculties ot mind and body, 
resigned his honors as he had worn 
them, meekly and unostentatiously. 
He had long fixed the term of his 
political existence at three score 
years and ten. He touched that 
age in 1828, and true to \his resolve, 
he executed it with the quietude 
and indifference of an ordinary 

He was above the pursuit of 
wealth, but also above dependence 
and idleness ; and like an old Boman 
of the elder Cato's time, worked in 
the fields at the head of his slaves 
in the intervals of public duty. His 
fields, his flocks, and his herds yield- 
ed an amply supply of domestic 
productions. A small crop of to- 
bacco — three hogsheads when the 
season was good, two when bad — 
purchased the exotics which com- 
fort required, and which the farm 
did not produce. He was not rich, 
but rich enough ,tp dispense hospi- 
tality and .charity, to pay as he 
went, and never to owe a dollar tp 
any man- 
He was steadfast in his friendships 


and would stake himself for a friend, 
but would violate no point of pub- 
lic duty to please and oblige one. 

He bad his peculiarties — idiosyn- 
cracies if any one pleases — but they 
were born with him, suited to him, 
constituting a part of his character, 
and necessary to its completeness. 
And, what may well be deemed 
idisoyncratic in these days, he was 
punctual in the discharge of all his 
minor duties to the Senate ; always 
in time at every place where duty 
required him to be. He was an 
habitual reader and student of the 
Bible, and a pious man. 

After he resigned his seat in the 
Senate he had nine years of tran- 
quil enjoyment, and died without 
pain or suffering, June 29th, 1837, 
characteristic in death as in life. — 
He directed that his grave should 
be on the point of a sterile ridge and 
covered with a pile of rough flint 
stone, that his bones might rest in 
undisturbed repose. 

Mr. Macon was the real Cincin- 
natus of America, as well as the 
pride and ornament of his native 

"We regret that it is not in our 
power, at present, to present a 
worthy sketch of the history of 
Bartlett Yancey. This deficiency 
we hope to be able to supply here- 

* This sketch is taken chiefly from Mr. Benton's 
* Thirty Years' View." Only such alterations of the 
arrangement and wording in the original has been 
made aa the plan adopted above seemed to require. 


We do not even know the date 
or place of his birth. He was for 
a time a Student of tbe University, 
the contemporary of the Hon. John 
E. Donnell and the late Gavin 
Hogg, Esq., and it was no unprom- 
mising prestage of success in life, 
that with the advantage of less 
early training he contested with 
them successfully for the honors of 
the Dialectic Society. He was a 
diligent and exemplary student, 
and in subsequent life amply repaid 
the kindness and favor of President 
Caldwell by constant efforts to pro- 
mote the usefulness of the institution. 
The records of the Board afford 
ample evidence that he was among 
the most zealous and efficient of its 
guardians. He left the University, 
we believe, in 1807, and about that 
time became principal instructor in 
the Caswell Academy, and in this 
important office, probably derivec 
greater improvement from the care 
ful preparation of the lessons, or 
which he heard the recition of hi 
pupils from day to day, than from 
all the instruction he had previous 
ly received. 

The leading events in his public 
career are stated with sufficient 
minuteness for our present purpose 
in the following extract from a no- 
tice in the second volume of Wheel- 
er's Historical Sketches, p. 78 : 

"His first appearance in poli- 
tics was in 1813 as a member 
of Congress, where he served 
four years. In 1817, he was Sena- 



tor from Caswell county, and he 
succeeded, as Speaker of that body, 
Hon. John Branch, when the latter 
was elected Governor. From that 
period until his death, in 1828, he 
was a member of the Senate, and 
Speaker with little or no intermis- 
sion. Such was his unbounded pop- 
ularity, that when a candidate for 
Congress, he received every vote 
but one in Caswell county ! As a 
lawyer he had but few equals, and 
no superiors. But it was chiefly 
while presiding as Speaker, for a 
series of years, of a body that was 
graced by many of the proudest 
intellectual ornaments of the State, 
and agitated by some of the most 
important questions of the day, that 
the superiority of Mr. Yancey con- 
sisted. Early was this talent so 
developed, that while a member of 
the House of Representatives in 
Congress, the Speaker, (Mr. Clay,) 
as will appear by reference to the 
journals, often supplied his place by 
the substitution of Mr. Yancey ; 
and he did not suffer by comparison 
with that distinguished gentleman, 
who as a Speaker, still stands un- 
rivalled. Combining with great 
energy and quickness an astuteness 
of mind, his bland and elegant man- 
ners rendered him amply fitted for 
this station." 

There was probably no other per- 
son with whom Mr. Macon corres- 
ponded so regularly and with such 
entire freedom, from reserve and re- 

i straint as with Mr. Yancey. No 
one familiar with their personal 

i history can be ignorant of the re- 
markable traits of character which 

; they exhibited in common. These 

i characteristics present themselves 
most strikingly in the letters which 

we are now permitted to present to 
our readers. We regret that it is 
not in our power to give the letters 
from Mr. Yancey which called forth 
the expression of Mr. Macon's opin- 
ions on so many subjects of great 
importance and of absorbing inter- 
est, in most instances, even at the 
present time. The opinions of Mr. 
Yancey on all these questions may 
be inferred from these letters al- 
most as certainly and clearly as 
they could from a direct exposition 
by his own pen. 

Mr. Yancey was an early, able, 
and fearless advocate of internal 
improvements by the State govern- 
ment, a most earnest friend of the 
University, and the iounder of our 
system of Common Schools. Mr. 
Macon was evidently uneasy at one 
time lest Mr. Yancey's anxiety to 
improve the internal condition of 
the State should seduce him into 
the advocacy of power by the 
general government to construct 
roads and cut canals. 

Mr. Crawford, as the exponent of 
the doctrine of a strict construction 
of the Constitution, was the favor- 
ite candidate of both for the Presi- 
dency in preference to Adams, Clay, 
or Jackson. 

It is apparent that Mr. Macon 
was most earnestly desirous that 
Mr. Yancy should be his successor 
in the Senate. It is remarkable 
that in any era subsequent to the 
administration of Washington, two 
politicians should have been found. 



who at all times and tmder all cir- 
cumstances, declined high stations 
under both the State and Federal 
government. Is there a parallel 
case in any other than what Mr. 
Macon was wont to characterize as 
The Meek State ?• 

Mr. Yancey died at thevery time 
(1828) when the object of his high- 
est aspirations, a seat in the Senate 
of the United States, was about to 
be presented to- his acceptance by 
universal acclamation. - 

We had intended to append notes 
to each of Mr. Macon's letters 
in relation to'v-arious points of polit- 
ical history, in connection with the 
Bank of the UnitedStates, Internal 
Improvements, a Protective Tariff, 
the Colonization Society, the Yazoo 
Controversy, the famous- Congres- 
sional Caucus which recommended 
Mr. Crawford for the Presidency, 
&c, &c; but have concluded upon 
reflection that with reference to 
these subjects, and the positions oc- 
cupied by the competitors of Mr. 
Crawford, it is best for the pi'esent 
to permit Mr. Macon and Mr. Yan- 
cey to speak for themselves. 

The reverence for and familiari- 
ty with the Holy Scriptures refer- 
ed to by Col. Benton, as one of the 
most prominent traits of Mr!- Ma- 
con's character is well- exemplified 
in the second and the last of this 
series of letters. Neither he nor 
Mr. Yancey, we believe, ever con- 
nected himself with any Christian 
Church — both of them entertained 

and expressed upon proper occas- 
ions a very decided predilection foi 
the Baptist denomination. 

Washington, 8th March, 1818. 

I have just finished my corres- 
pondence about business and can- 
not, I believe, do a better act than 
to acknowledge the receipt of your 
acceptable letter of the 22nd ult. 
I rejoice that you have taken Gran- 
ville in your Circuit, because if noth- 
ing happen to prevent, I will endea- 
vor to see you there at the Fall 1 

After reading your letter I was- 
perfectly satisfied with j^our refus- 
ing to accept the appointment of 
Judge, though I am still pleased that 
it was offered to yon. 

I must ask you to examine the 
Constitution of the United States, 
particularly the following part and> 
then tell me, if Congress can estab- 
lish banks, make roads and canals, 
whether they cannot free all the 
slaves in the United States ? 

The preariible^artiele 1, section 
8 — paragraph 1, same article and 
paragraph, section 9-— article 4, all 
the sections 2 and 4, with the 9 and 10 
amendments. Look also at section 
10, article 1; section 8 of the same i 
article and paragraph 5, and tell 
me whether Congress can make 
anything but gold and silver a ten- 
der in the payment of debts. It 
takes a long time to produce great 
events in any nation. The dispute 
which began in Great Britain under 
the reign' of Charles the First was 
not completely settled until William 
of Orange was placed upon the 
throne. The American revolution 
commenced with the stamp act. 
How long the French revolution 
was brewing is more uncertain ; but 



that may be said to have begun 
when her philosophers first wrote 
freely upon politics. The dispute 
between Csesar and Pompey did not 
begin with them* for Marius and 
Sylla were before theim We have 
abolition, colonization and pea<;e 
societies-— their intentions cannot 
be known ; but the character and 
spirit of one may without injustice 
be considered that of alt.- It is a 
character and spirit of perseverance 
bordering on enthusiasm, and if the 
general government shall continue 
to stretch its powers, these societies 
will undoubtedly push it to try the 
question of emancipation. I have 
written very freely to you and it is 
intended for you alone. Under a 
fair and honest construction of the 
Constitution,- the negro property is 
safe an4 secure. Beside the sub- 
jects before mentioned we cannot 
forget that the sedition act was de- 
clared constitutional by the courts, 
and it is probable that the alien one 
was also. 

The States having no slaves may 
not feel as strongly, as the States 
having slaves, about stretching the 
Constitution, because no such inter- 
est is to be touched by it. Who 
could have supposed that when Mr. 
Jefferson went out of office that his 
principles and the principles which 
brought him into it would so* soon 
have become unfashionable, and' that 
Mr. Madison, the champion of banks, 
should have signed an act to estab- 
lish one, containing rather worse 
principles, than the one he opposed 
as unconstitutional, and that Mr. 
Monroe 1 should become apparently 
the favorite of the* favorites, if not 
so in fact. 

The camp that is not always 
guarded may be surprised, and the 
people which do not always watch 
their rules may be enslaved'.- Two 

much confidence is the ruin of Dotli. 
You ask me to write often. I fear 
that this, with my letter about nav- 
igation may less en your desire to 
hear from me. They are both high- 
ly important subjects and worthy 
a much more able pen, and as you 
are not now to act on them, may 
not incline to plage yourself with 
them and would rather play with 
your children, when at home. 

When examining the constitution 
as before requested, remember that 
there is a time for all things, that 
there was a time, when to have vo- 
ted for the Yazoo compromise would 
have destroyed the reputation of 
almost any man in the southern 
country. The hatredwhich attach' 
ed to the blue lights and the Hart- 
ford convention are now done away, 
at least apparently so, among Con- 
gressmen. These facts are not men- 
tioned with the intention to induce 
a belief that the South would or 
ought to consent to emancipation ; 
but merely to show how a majority 
in Congress may change without 
acknowledging that it had changed 
its principles or changed at all. — 
Crawford and family are well. He' 
desired me to present you with his 
best wishes. You and aliyour fam- 
ily have those of thy friend. 


Mr. Bartlett Yancey, 
Caswell C. H., 
North Carolina; 

Washington, Aprii 15, 1818. 

Sir : By the mail I send answers 
to your four questions, you will 
observe that in some the answer 
refers by numbers to the questions, 
which are stated on the top of each 
side of the enclosed sheet of paper. 

Examine again the Constitution 
of the United States and you will 
perceive your error. If Congress 
can make canals they can with more 



propriety emancipate. Be not de- 
ceived, I speak soberly in the fear 
of God and the love of the Consti- 
tution. Let not love of improve- 
ment or a thirst for glory blind that 
sober discretion and sound sense, 
•with which the Lord has blest you. 
Paul was not more anxious or sin- 
cere concerning Timothy, than I 
am for you. Your error in this will 
injure if not destroy our beloved 
mother, North Carolina and all the 
southern country. Add not to the 
Constitution nor take therefrom. 
Be not led astray by grand notions 
or magnificent opinions. Eemem- 
ber you belong to a meek State and 
just people, who want nothing but 
to enjoy the fruits of their labor 
honestly and to lay out their prof- 
its in their own way. In all coun- 
tries, those who have sense enough 
to get and keep money, may be 
safely trusted as to the manner of 
disbursing it. 

Written in my seat in the Senate 
while business is going on. God 
preserve you many years, as Lewis 
Don Onis says to the Secretary of 
State, and written also from the 
heart to reach the heart, if so be 
the will of God. Farewell in truth 
and remember me in good will to 
Mrs. Yancey and your mother. 

Mb. Bartlett Yancey. 

WASHiNGT0N,"l2th Dec., 1823. 

Sir: I have this day received 
your letter of the 7th instant, in 
which you state that you had seen 
my letter to Mr. Eobert H. Jones, 
in which I did'nt say whether I 
should attend a caucus, if there be 
one here, during the present session 
of Congress; but informed him what 
had been my practice for many 
years past, and I now add for the 
last twenty or more, and no objec- 
tion that I ever heard has been ta- 

ken to it before. In the contest 
between Mr. Madison and Mr. Mon- 
roe when the first named was first 
elected, I was neither at the cau- 
cus nor signed the protest, nor was 
it published in any newspaper, 
which of them I preferred; yet ev- 
erybody knew for whom I should 
vote. And that election was con- 
sidered as important as the one now 
depending, because it was then de- 
clared that the feds would support 
Mr. Monroe, and it was known that 
a part of the republicans would. 

I have more than a year past re- 
flected much, whether my attend- 
ing a caucus would do good or harm 
as it regards the election of Mr. 
Crawford, and am fully convinced 
it would do no good, and might do 
much harm. If I attend, might it 
not, nay, would it not be said, that 
after having refused for more than 
twenty years, and that too in the 
troublesome time of war, and the 
Hartford Convention, that now, in 
time of peace, the principles or 
practice is changed, and that every 
man has his price, and that Craw« 
ford, the master intriguer, is the first 
and only one who has been able to 
find and touch the chord which pro- 
duced the change. And it is not 
known that I am neither for the 
new tariff to encourage manufac- 
tures, nor for the plan of internal 
improvements by the federal gov- 
ernment, nor a member of the Co- 
lonization Society ? And each of 
these will have weight in the elec- 
tion. A change at this time would 
give rise to suspicions that a prom- 
ise or a bargain- existed on one or 
more of these subjects, or that a 
plan was expected or wanted. Ee- 
flect much and consider well before 
you decide what another ought to 
do. If I have the national influence 
which you suppose, by what means 
has it been obtained ? Not, I am 



sure, by pursuing the opinions of 
others . But in truth I have no such 
influence, nor ever had; and my 
opinions have become too old fash- 
ioned for the present time. They 
are out of fashion and called the old 
school. Mr. Jefferson is probably 
the only man that has national in- 
fluence, and the whims afloat about 
the tariff and internal improve- 
ments by the federal government, 
has, I apprehend, diminished his a 
good deal. 

I have, as you and everybody else 
know, been in Congress with Mr. 
Crawford all the time that he was 
a member, but never in the same 
House with him. His talents, in- 
dependence, firmness and honesty 
I never heard doubted by a single 
member who served with him. His 
republicanism was not there ques- 
tioned, nor do I now recollect but 
one vote of his which was thought 
to be at variance with the old re- 
publican doctrine, and that was to 
renew the charter of the first Bank 
of the United States, and that cer- 
tainly would have been better than 
establishing the present one. He 
was a zealous advocate for the dec- 
laration of war, and had to exert 
himself to get it carried through 
the Senate. I lived several sessions 
at the same boarding house with 
him, and have been on the most 
friendly terms since our first ac- 
quaintance, and intend to vote for 
him against any candidate yet nam- 
ed for the next President ; but it 
really seems useless to write all this 
to you who know .him as well as I 

As to the vote of New York, a 
gentleman of that State referred me 
to a statement he had given Saun- 
ders for you. It is understood that 
Pennsylvania will support the cau- 
cus nomination if one be made — 

without such a nomination, doubt- 
ful. Mr. Gallatin and the old re- 
publicans support Mr. Crawford. — 
The opinion of Gov. Shultz not 
heard by me. 

I will make a single observation 
on the instructions you mention, 
which is this : The Principal in- 
structs the Agent, not in the charac- 
ter of Agent, but an individual. — 
Every citizen in the United States 
has a right to recommend to the 
people any person he pleases for the 
next President, if such person be 
qualified according to the Constitu- 
tion. We members of Congress, or 
any other people may recommend 
a man for President — all have the 
same right. 

I have often in my life had to re- 
gret differing with my friends in 
opinion, and never was it more un- 
pleasant or disagreeable than in the 
present case. All that I shall now 
say is, that I have not yet decided 
to attend the caucus. 

Permit me, before I conclude, to 
remark on the following words in 
your leter : It is time for you to come 
out plainly to your friends on this 
subject. I never did otherwise. — 
Eesponsibility I never dreaded, and 
invariably followed my own opin- 
ions. My letter to . Jones was in 
answer to one from him, and suffi- 
ciently plain to convince you both 
that 1 had not decided at the time 
it was wrote to attend a caucus, and 
that was all which was intended to 
be conveyed. I beg of you to be- 
lieve that these remarks are only 
made to justify myself, and not to 
impute any unfriendly thought to 
you. To pass them in silence would 
seem to admit that they were just. 

I expect that every man in North 
Carolina knows that I prefer Craw- 
ford to any of the named candi- 
dates, and it may be, that most of 



the Editors of the newspapers, as 
it has been stated" in the Eegister, 
printed at Baleigh, without having 
the information from me. I men- 
tion this because I am not writing 
for publication or print ; you may- 
let whoever you please read it. I 
have not written to you before, and 
it was because I was certain that 
Saunders would advise you of the 
doings here, and I have been out so 
seldom that I see nor hear nothing 
of the busy men or their doings, 
for all plans have' Busy men. 

Crawford- is still' very low, and 
mends very slowly. When he will be 
able to ; attend to the whole duties 
of the office is uncertain. His chil- 
dren have the measles. It Would' 
f ratify me very much that you or 
ones would now and then give me 
a line. 

The opinion of Gen. Jackson a- 
bout the constitutionality of the TJ. 
States Banks, I do not know. — 
All the other candidates for the 
Presidency were in favor of the last. 

My great objection tojattending a 
caucus is this, that the minority 
yield their opinion, and support 
what they disapprove. For exam- 
ple, suppose I attend, and the ma- 
jority prefer one of the other can- 
didates to Crawford, may be the one 
to whom I have the greatest ob^ 
jection ? Believe me to be 
With great regard and esteem, 
Sir, your ob't servant, 

Mr. Bartlett Yancey. 

Washington, March 31, 1826. 
Sir : No event has- lately taken 
place which has given me so much 
satisfaction-, as your declining to ac- 
cept the mission to> Peru.- The of- 
fer was no doubt intended' for the 
purpose of dividing, and conquer- 
ing those who supported Crawford 
a4/ the last Presidential election. 

The refusal was what I should 
have expected', had' I have known 
of the offer before 1 read your let- 
ter to Saunders. I am not inform- 
ed that any one of your friends 
here was consulted about the ap- 
pointment. As soon as I read your 
letter I wrote you a line or two, 
which was all that could be done 
for that mail. 

The administration seems to have 
a pretty strong and well fixed ma- 
jority in both houses of Congress, 
and nearly all the newspapers are 
understood' to support it. These 
facts fully demonstrate the effect 
and power of patronage, which I . 
fear it is not possible to diminish, 
especially as long as people are in 
debt, and had' rather have a snug 
place called office to support them 
than to labor in a field, or a profes- 
sion, or even to sell goods. The 
people are not altogether to blame 
for the situation, the Legislatures 
ought to bear a full share, because 
they tempted them by enacting 
debt offices denominated banks.— *»• 
Eve probably would not have sinned 
had she not have been tempted and 
lead us not into temptation, is the 
wisest prayer ever uttered. 

The advertising and publishing 
tkelawsby the administration, gives- 
it at monstrous influence with the 1 
editors of newspapers. They stick 
to it like men who have failed in 
business, or brought up to a pro- 
fession^ in- which they did not, or 
could not proceed, or like those who 
spend the estate their parents made 
and gave theim They stick to it 
so fast, it is next to impossible to 
seperate them from it — & place and 
nothing else will satisfy them. — 
They are never really denied, but 
receive - words sufficiently comfort- ' 
able to induce them to hope, to praise 
and to hang on,- 



The talents in the Senate are cer- 
tainly not in favor of the adminis- 
tration ; yet all its measures have 
been approved, not by force of ar- 
gument, but votes. 

I have of late been much troubled 
with a bleeding from the nose, and 
have been the greater part of the 
Bession very hoai'se. This is men- 
tioned in connexion' with a subject 
mentioned to you some time past. 
If you were not ih the Legislature, 
who would fill your useful stand 
there ? It is an important consid- 
eration' and deserves much reflec- 

The supporters of Adams and 
Jackson will probably split in eve- 
ry State: The party who were 
mere office hunters will cling to the 
one supposed to- be strongest. I 
mention this that you may take it 
into view when you think of North 
Carolina affairs. The present ad- 
ministration will, it is thought, use 
the patronage to gain friends- and 
probably that of the General, if he 
should be elected at the next elec- 
tion, will be to provide for friends. 

There are three things which pro- 
duce almost of themselves. Power 
begets power, money begets money, 
and patronage begets patronage, 
and one of them well managed will 
generally beget the other twOi 

The next Presidential contest will 
probably be between A. and J. I 
nave often been asked which I should 
support if only these two are up. 
1 answered that it was time enough 
to decide — that unless A. changed 
his measures I should not support 
him, and that I did not wish to see 
J., President ; and! ijhati I did? not 
mean, at this time to 1 commit my- 
self to support either, but to Wait 
until time made it necessary to de- 

The book of Judges ought to' be 

attentively read by every man in 
the United States to see the terri- 
ble effect on the Israelites for de- 
parting from the laws, which was 
their constitution ; and so ought 
the book of Samuel and Kings. In- 
deed, the whole Bibl-e contains great 
knowledge of the principles of gov- 
ernment. The rising generation 
forget the principles, and maxims 
of their forefathers,- heiice the de- 
struction of free governments in 
every age. Of what benefit were 
the laws to the children- of Israel 
when they departed' from them, or 
what benefit are written constitu- 
tions if they be departed from ? — 
The wise maxims they contain are 
useless, perhaps, worse than useless 
if not adhered to, because honest 
people abide by them and others do 

It is very probable that my let- 
ters now may contain nothing new, 
having so often written you on pub- 
lic affairs ; but they afford me an 
opportunity of expressing my earn- 
est desire to be remembered to your 
kind family, in the most friendly 
terms, and to assure you that I am 
Your friend, 

Mr. Bart£et Yancey. 

Washington, B%ev 30th, 1837. 

Sib. : Yesterday your letter of the* 
24th inst,, was-received. No infor- 
mation from Europe has reached 
this place,f which will not enable me 
to answer the question you therein 
propose, in a satisfactory manner. 

The destination of the Turkish 
fleet by the allies; has not that I 
have heard- produced a single spec- 
ulation- in our produce, and the mer- 
chants- are generally well informed 
in- whatever may tend to promote 
their interest. If the war between 
the allies and' Turks should last a 
few years, it may possibly raise the' 



price of some articles that we grow 
for exportation, most likely that of 
wheat, because the Turks might, 
for a while, prevent its exportation 
from the Black sea. 

The Turks at war with the allies 
would not have a navy to cruise on 
the sea. Of course the war could not 
raise the price of freight, or the 
war between the Eussians and Per- 
sians is not felt in the United States, 
nor is it expected that that between 
the Allies and the Turks would be 
felt much more. If any of the 
christian powers should support the 
Turks, it might have then some ef- 
fect on our production ; but with- 
out this it cannot, I think, be felt 
much in the United States. 

On my arrival here I heard much 
from both of the Presidential par- 
ties about a short session ; but the 
doings of neither seem to promise 

The friends of Jackson appear 
quite certain of his election, and 
the friends of Adams say they are 
not without hope, — that he will be 
again elected. 

The passage of a new tariff act 
may in some measure probably de- 
pend on the effect which the warm 
friends of the two candidates for 
the presidency, may expect it will 
have on the election. 

Judging from the opinion of the 
State Legislatures as declared in 
the newspapers, Jackson has now 
the best prospect for being elected; 
but it is not an easy task to beat 
patronage. That in all countries 
is power, and will in all countries 
be used to retain power. It is the 
smoothest way of employing pub- 
lic money to promote the views of 
those who use it. He that uses it, 
and he that receives it, both declare 

it done to promote the general in- 

Your friend, 
P. S. — Just as I had finished the 
letter,a gentleman called on me and 
said that he was informed that Mr. 
Clay had written a pamphlet, and 
that it was this day put by mail in 
all directions. I give it to you as 
I received it. I may add that a re- 
port has been in circulation for a 
few days that he was writing a pam- 
phlet to justify his conduct about 
the election of President. 

N. M. 



We find in the Bible Society Be- 
cord for September an interesting 
account from the pen of the Eev. 
E. F. Eockwell, Professor of Latin, 
in Davidson College, of an ancient 
copy of the Holy Scriptures,the pro 
perty of Samuel Houston,Esq., o 

The Historical Society of th 
University has among its collection 
in a pretty good state of preserva- 
tion, even to the binding, a still ol- 
der copy of one of the Barker edi- 
tions of the Bible. We have care- 
fully compared Professor Bockwell'a 
quotations with the text of the lat- 
ter, and find them to be identical, 
with the exception of a few slight 
departures from the ancient ortho- 
graphy which we have taken paina 
to restore. 

The Historical Society is indebt- 
ed for its copy to the Eev. Charles 



F. Deems, D. D., who received it 
trom a member of the Eeed family 
in the County of Perquimans, whose 
ancestor was the Deputy of one of 
the Lord's Proprietors about the 
close of the eighteenth century. 

This is probably not merely the 
oldest Bible in the State, but the 
first ever seen within our borders 
after the date of the first permanent 
settlement. It was the family Bible 
of George Durant, who if not the 
very first colonist, was the first land 
holder whose title is on record in 
the ancient County (and govern- 
ment) of Albemarle. He was born 
in England on the 23d August, 1682. 
In 1662, he purchased of Cesteca- 
noe, King of the Yeopim Indians, 
the neck of land at the mouth of 
Little and Perquimans rivers which 
perpetuates his name, and his title 
was confirmed in the following year 
by a grant from Sir William Berk- 
ley, of Carolina, and Governor of 
Virginia. Durant was one of the 
most respectable of the early immi- 
grants, and was successively a mem- 
i ber of the Council, Justice of the 
i Quorum and Judge of the General 
i Court. 

It is worthy of note that although 
the collections of the Historical So- 
; ciety of the University are compar- 
.. atively meagre, they contain the 
j oldest Bible in the State, the first 
volume of newspapers published in 
. the province of North Carolina and 
5 copies of the first political pamphlet, 

and the first bound volume which 
issued from our press. 

The title page of the New Testa- 
ment of Durant's Bible is like the 
subsequent edition described by 
Professor Eockwell, " arranged in 
the form of a heart, with broad 
wood cut borders, containing the 
names of the twelve patriarchs on 
the left hand, and the twelve apos- 
tles on the right." 

Jjplsp!§^l|i^ THE Jp|§|!f|iis|^ 


% merit of our Lord Jesus M 
\||i&> christ, Tranflatedout of 00 

yjll Greeke by Theod. Beza : With briefe \Wf 
/^/Summaries and expositions upon the'xS'f 
\M{ hard places by the faid Author, n|\ 
W>Ioac (amer, and P. Lqfieler Yillerius/M. 
llkW Engelif hed by L. TOMSON. J|) 
Together with theAnnotations (0§y 
\M.ofPr. Junius upon the Rev- IMC 
m) elation of S. JOHN. <|< 
!<S< ky ^ ie deputies of Chrifto- \i,\ 
to the Queen's most 
Excellent y^0J 
Majeftie. f&£?- 




[Eds. University Mag. 

From the Bible Society Record. 
An Old Bible. 


A rare old copy of the Holy Bible 
was discovered some time since, in 
the hands of Samuel Houston, Esq., 
of Iredell County, North Carolina. 
It has been in the family for several 
generations, and was brought by 
his ancestors from Ireland. A brief 
notice of this volume may not be 



uninteresting, especially as it is a 
very different translation from the 
one in ordinary use. 

It is in small quarto form : the 
title page of the Old Testament, 
with the first eight, chapters ,of Gen- 
esis, are wanting, hut in other res- 
pects it is nearly complete. 

It is ornamented and illustrated 
with maps and plates, ; and an en- 
graved title page to the New Tes- 
tament. The title is arranged in 
the form of a heart, with broad 
wood cut borders, containing the 
names of the twelve patriarchs on 
the left hand, and the twelve apos- 
tles on the right. 

" The New Testament of our Lord 
"Jesus -Christ, tranflated out of 
" Greek e by Theod. Beza, with 
"briefe Summaries and exppfitions 
" upon. the hard places by the faid 
" Authour, Ioac. Gamer, and P. 
" Lofeler. Villerius. Engelifhed by 
"1. Tomson. Together with the 
" Annotations of Fr. Junius upon 
" the Revelation of S. John. Im- 
" printed at London, by Chriftopher 
" Barker, Pi-inter to the Queenes 
"moft excellent JVLajeftie, 1615." 

It contains the Apocrypha, and 
" The Book of Psalms collected into 
English metre by Thomas Sternhold, 
John Hopkins, and others : confer- 
red with the Hebrew, with apt notes 
to sing them withal." It is ; also fur- 
nished with two tables : one, of the 
interpretations of proper names, 
the other, of the principal things 
contained in the Bible. 

There are also.two kinds of notes. 

" The notes that are directed b}^ fig- 
ures of Arithmetic, as 1, 2, 3, 4, &c, 
thorowout the, evangelists and acts, 
declare the effect or sum of the doc- 
trine contained between ,©ne of the 
sayd figures and the next that foi- 
loweth." . .... "And hi ; the epis- 
tles in like sort they .declare the 
methode and ; arts which the apos- 
tles use, and how every argument 
or reason .dependqth one upon an- 

" Lastly, the notes that goe by 
order of the letters of the alphabet 
placed in the text, with the like an- 
swering unto them in the margent, 
serve to expound and lighten the 
dark words an d phrases immediate- 
ly following in them." 

The text not only differs very 
much from the version .of King 
James, 1611, but from the five other 
English .translations with which 
that is compared in Bagster's Eng- 
lish Hexapala. It seems to be de- 
scribed in the introduction to that 
splendid work, page 92, 94 : A new 
edition of the Genevan version qf 
the New Testament, with some 
slight variations, w^as published i; 
1576, by Lawrence Tomson, an un- 
der secretary to Sir Erancis Wal- 
singham. He follows the Genevan 
version of 1560, and in the altera- 
tions he made, seems to have been 
guided by the Latin translation of 
Beza; on which account probably, 
and further, perhaps because that 
lerned man had perused and sanction- 
ed the Genevan verson ; ToinsoneDtit» 



leshis work, ' The New Testament, 
translated from the Greek by Theo- 
dore Beza.' There are, however, 
many Beza's render- 
ings which Tomson has not followed. 
The version has sometimes been de- 
scribed as a translation of Beza's 
Latin version, but most improperly, 
as it is evidently the same as the 
Genevan, with here and there a va- 
riation. Cotton says that the first 
edition of Tomson' s New Testament 
differs in some parts from subse- 
quent editions by him ; and as he 
also remarks, it contains an English 
version of Beza's dedication of his 
books to Louis, Prince of Conde. — 
He notices further, -that Tomson' s 
edition was frequently followed in 
the later Genevan Bibles. The chief 
peculiarity of Tomson' s Testament 
consisted in its comprising a trans- 
lation of Beza's summaries of the 
Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, 
and the Epistles, with short -expo- 
sitions of difficult passages, selected, 
■■is the title page states, 'from the 
'annotations of Beza, Joachim Ca- 
nerarius, P. Losderius, and Francis 
Junius. " 
- The volume before us does not 

• contain the dedication here men- 
i ioned : its date 1615 is much later 

• han Tomson's first edition 1576 ; "it 
:uay be one of the later Genevan 
editions, but differs materially from 

he Genevan of 1557, in Bagster. 
r The Book of Psalms has been 
larked off with a pen, for morning 
:nd evening worship according to 

the Psalter of the Episcopal Church. 
Thepublisher,Kobert Barker, ap- 
pears to .have continued in this oc- 
cupation a long time ; for in the 
Catalogue of the Library of the 
American Bible Society, we find 
editions. of his .from 1601 to 1648. 
Audit ,is singular .that he printed 
this i edition in English at the same 
that he was publishing the version 
of Ejing James ; and further that 
he published a different edition of 
the Genevan version the same ye,ar. 
For in the Catalogue above referred 
to, page 9, we.find " 1615, Genevan 
version, imprinted by Eobert Bar- 
ker, &c, quarto, London." The text 
is in Black letter, the notes in Bo- 
man." But this old volume is all 
Eoman letter. And he seems to 
have published no other version ex- 
cept King James' after this year. 

We will compare a few passages 

in this edition with other versions. 

Matt. 3:8: Wiclif, 1380, " Ther- 

for do ye worthie 

fruytis of penaunce:' 

" Tyndale, 1534. 'Brynge 

forth therfore the 

frutes belonging to 


• " Cranmer,1539.'Brynge 

forth therfore the 

frutes that belong 

to repentaunce:" 

" Geneva, 1557. "Bring 

forth therefore the 

fruites belonging to 

amendment of life." 

« Eheims, 1582. "TTeld 



therefore fruite wor- 
thy of penance." 
" Kg. James, 1611.—* 
Bring forth there- 
fore fruits meet for 
" Old Vol., 1615. "Bring 
forth therefore fruit 
worthy amendment 
of life." So in Eev. 
2:5. 3 : 19. " re- 
pent," in A. V. is 
rendered, "amend." 
In Matt. 6 : 25, 27 : instead of our 
"Take no thought," and "taking 
thought," we have here, " Be not 
careful," and " taking care." The 
first agrees with Tyndale, Cranmer, 
and Eheims : Wiclif has, " be not 
bisie." The second differs from all 
these visions and from our present 
Bibles. In Matt. 14 : 11. where we 
have " charger," Wicliff andEheims 
have "dish;" this edition with Tyn- 
dale, Cranmer . and Geneva, has 
"platter." Matt. 23: 24, where 
we " strain at a gnat," this, with 
Tyndale, Cranmer, and Geneva, has, 
" strain out a gnat ;" Wiclif has it 
" clensenge a gnat;" andEheims, 
" strained a gnat." 

Matt. 23 : 10, does not precisely 
agree with any of these versions, 
but bears hard on Doctors of Di- 
vinity. " Be not called Doctours, 
for one is your Doctour, even 

In Mark 12 : 42. we have, " two 

♦ Marginal reading in A. V. is "answerable to 
amendment of life." 

miles which make a quadrin:" agree- 
ing with Geneva, and no other. — 
Wiclif has " two mynutis, that is, 
a farthing." • 

At the end of the 5th verse in 
Matt. 21, we have added to our ver- 
sion "used to the yoke," — a colt 
the foal of an ass — used to fthe 
yoke." All the other English ver- 
sions have the same addition, as the 
full equivalent of upo zugiou. 

Matt. 22 : 24, has an addition that 
is found in no other version : "If a 
man die having no children, his 
brother shall marry his wife — by 
the right of alliance, &c." This last 
clause is however included in the 
verb here employed, epigambreuset, 
which is not fouud in the parallel 
passages Mark 12 : 19, Luke 20 : 
28;* but in Gen, 38: 8, in LXX., 
and is explained by Beza, Piscator, 
&c, Ducet affioitatis jure, shall mar- 
ry by right of affinity. 

Matt. 28 : 14, is rendered in a sin- 
gular manner, and different from all 
the other versions. "Aud if this 
matter come before the governor to 
be heard, we will persuade him, and 
so use the matter that you shall not 
need to care." 

In Luke 2 : 7, we read in our ver- 
sion, " And she brought forth her 
first born son . . . and laid him in 
a manger." So Tyndale, Cranmei 
and Eheims. But Wiclif ha; 
" cracche ; " Geneva, " cretche ; ' 
and this edition, " cratch." 

* Nor in the law in Deut. 25 : 5. in LXX. 



John 1 : 15, 30, " for he was be- 
fore me," is made to read, "he was 
better than I." The Genevan has 
" he is more excellent then I."— 
John 2:3, " when they wanted 
wine," is, when the wine failed," 
very nearly identical with all the 
versions before 1611. 

Acts 12 : 4, " After the passover" 
is read, where almost all the old 
versions with our present Bible re- 
tain, " after Easter." A curious ex- 
pression is found iu Acts 21 : 15, 
" And after those dayes wee trussed 
up our fardels and went up to Hie- 
rusalem." This is very like the 
Genevan ; " we werun made ready," 
is "Wiclif's; "we made ourselves 
ready," is Tyndale's; "we took up 
our burthens," is Cranmer's render- 
ing. " Being prepared, " is the 
phrase in the version of Rheims. — 
The word " carriage " in our Bible, 
an the sense of baggage, or thing- 
carried, is nearly as obsolete as 

In the 35th verse of the same 
chapter we have auother word which 
lias disappeared from the language, 
: " and when hee came unto the grie- 
ces," i. e. to the stairs. 
[ In Acts 20 : 16, in the common 
3mon version we read, " Eor Paul 
i had determined to sail by Ephesus," 
leaving it ambiguous, or to be de- 
-termiued by the emphasis of the 
.reader on the syllable " by," wheth- 
Brhe intended to touch at that place. 
But it is much better in the Gene- 
van, and in most of the old versions. 

" Eor Paul had determined to leave 
Ephesus as they sailed." Our old 
copy, however, has the common 
reading, and so differs from the 

The possessive pronoun " its," 
which does not occur either in our 
version, is not found here, but the 
want of it is felt. Thus in Rom. 
8 : 20, " The creature is subject to 
vanity, but not of it own will." — 
This is also the reading of the Ge- 
nevan version. It is well known 
that generally " his " supplies the 
place of its ; as, " his kind," in Gen. 
1 : 11-25 ; Luke 14 : 35, "his savor." 
" Its is of late origin in the lan- 
guage." The following is given by 
Latham in his Handbook of the 
English language, as among the 
latest specimens of his for its : "The 
apoplexy is, I take it, a kind of 
lethargy. I have read the cause of 
his effects in Galen ; it is a kind of 

It might also be remarked of this 
rare old volume, that there are no 
apostrophes to mark the possessive 

Titus 1:8," harberous " is found 
for hospitable. 

Judges 9 : 53, instead of, " all to 
brake his skull," in the common 
version, we have, " and brake his 

Psalm 16 : 2, the last clause, "my 
goodness extendeth not to thee," 
in place of " goodness" we' have 
" well doing ;" the prayer book ver- 



eion, which is Cranmer's, has, "my 
goods are nothing to thee." 

Psalm 49 : 8, " For the redemp- 
tion of their soul is precious, and 
it ceasethfor ever, is made, " So pre- 
cious is the redemption of their 
feouls, and the continuance for ever," 
reversing the last clause. But this 
is much less than the variation in 
the prayer book : " For it cost more 
to redeem their souls ; so that he 
must let it alone for ever." 

For the University Magazine. 

Translated from the German Novelist, Max Ring. 

Humbolt's figure is not tall, but 
rather stout; his feet and hands 
are small and of very aristocratic 
form : silver-grey hairs surround 
the venerable head which bears 
upon its broad and massive fore- 
head — that temple of the mind — 
the unmistakeable marks of genius. 
His eyes are blue, and notwithstand- 
ing his great age, lively and expres- 
sive. Round his finely-chiselled 
mouth plays a peculiar smile, half 
sarcastic, half benevolent, full of 
mental superiority and finesse, the 
result of knowledge and experience. 
While speaking, his eyes are bent 
upon the ground, raising his head 
from time to time to smile kindly 
and encouragingly on his listener. 
In conversation one forgets that the 
celebrated man has passed his eigh- 
ty-seventh year, so youthful, fresh 
and vigorous is his language in ever- 

varying change of jest and earnest. 
He is, in the truest sense and full- 
est meaning of the word, the best 
narrator and clearest speaker. — 
Boundless knowledge is at his com- 
mand, and notwithstanding his 
great age, one cannot perceive the 
slightest decrease in his matchless 
memory. He is never at a loss for 
facts, names and dates, and remem- 
bers the most unimportant and 
trifling particulars equally as well 
as the greatest and most important 
events. The great feature in his 
character is an entire unselfishness 
and humane consideration for oth- 
ers. It is a fact known only to his 
most intimate friends, that he spends 
the greater part of his income in 
assisting studious young men. His 
private fortune is said to be but 
limited ; but he gets from the King 
a considerable salary for his posi- 
tion at Court, and is paid a hand- 
some sum besides by Cotta, the 
publisher of his works. With the 
simplicity of his wants, his income 
would be not only sufficient, but 
would allow him to save considera- 
bly ; but he thinks he can make no 
better use of it than in relieving 
the undeserved lot of so many less 
fortunate ones. Generally he uses 
his influence with the King, only 
for the promotion of science. — 
There is no phenomenon, no indi- 
vidual excellence, unobserved by 
him. Far from any envy or paltry 
jealousy, he often procures for the 
meritorious not only due apprecir.- 



tion, but also appointments and dis- 

It may not be uninteresting to 
present the daily routine which is 
almost uninterruptedly followed by 
the great philosopher. He rises at 
about half-past eight in the morn- 
ing. During breakfast he reads his 
letters, which he is accustomed to 
answer immediately. There is pro- 
bably no more punctual correspon- 
dent, though few men have as ex- 
tensive a correspondence with all 
regions of the world. Afterwards, 
he dresses with the assistance of 
his valet, and pays or receives the 
visits of those announced, until ten 
o'clock in the afternoon. At three 
o'clock he goes to the royal dinner 
where he usually dines, unless he 
prefers to invite himself to the 
house of a friend, generally that of 
Alexander Mendelsohn, where he 
resides. Not before seven o'clock 
does he return to his dwelling-, 
whence he again hurries to the court 
or society, from which he returns 
at about half-past eleven at night. 
Now commences his real and favor- 
ite study-time. In the deep stillness 
of the night he is- engaged in writ- 
ing his immortal, works, often un- 
til, in summer-time, the clear day- 
light streams through his windows. 
It is already three o'clock when 
this youthful octogenarian allows 
his fame, bending under nearly nine- 
ty years, to take a silent repose and 
gather the necessary thoughts for 
tlic coming day. One would sup- 

pose this relation was a fiction ; but 
this mode of living by Humboldt is 
literally true. So much does the 
mind govern the body, that he 
scarcely appears to require the re- 
freshment needed by common mor* 
tals. Humboldt has no family of 
his own. His nearest relations are 
the sons and daughters of his cele- 
brated brother, Wilhelm, towards 
whom he bears the tenderest affee- 
tion. " You should have been ac- 
quainted with my brother," he said 
with amiable modesty, " he always 
was the most gifted of us." He ia 
animated by a truly antique feeling 
for friendship ; his readiness to 
oblige others, even at a sacrifice, in 
the selfish times, is really astonish- 
ing and almost unexampled. It is- 
by this quality and his manifold 
connexions with the most prominent 
personages of all countries and na- 
tions, that he has become, in the 
truest sense, the mental centre of 
modern European culture, and of 
every scientific progress. Encour- 
aged by him, enterprising travelers - 
penetrate the remotest regions and- 
discover men and unknown territo- 
ries- which are thus gained by civil- 
ization and enlightenment. Under' 
his guidance, young inquirers a^e 1 
engaged in the enigmas of the cre- 
ation and the hidden: forcas of na- 
ture. The philosophers, the astron- 
omers, the botanists, and the cheir.-- 
ists, bring the discoveries for which 
they are indebted partially to his 
eliminary- labors, in triumph, to- 



his feet. He animates their zeal ; 
his praise is their incentive and 
highest reward; his instruction 
points out, for the most part, the 
path they have to follow. All look 
upon him as a prince ; all channels 
and streams flow into this sea of 
knowledge, which includes all the 
treasures of modern science. In- 
deed, such a man never lived before, 
and in him are realized Goethe's 
beautiful dreams of a world-wide 
literature (welt-literatur) and uni- 
versal civilization to the fullest and 
finest appreciation. To a German 
was given the great fortune of found- 
ing the government of the universal 
mind, and the whole nation may 
look with pride and veneration upon 
the born prince, arisen from its 
midst, and bearing the crown oi 
Lrenius for all time. 


Mr. Frank Carrol lived about a 
mile from my father's, and the two 
plantations were separated by a 
large creek. When I was a school- 
boy, Mr. Carrol's was a place of 
great resort for all the young folks. 
His own children had grown up and 
were married, and he and his wife 
were the only two whites on the 
premises. They lived happily to- 
gether, with only a little quarrel 
now and then for the pleasure of 
an immediate reconciliation. He 
was fond of young folks as I have 
already hinted, and good Mrs. Car- 

rol was not a whit behind him. — 
Many a time in our school vacation 
when L had returned home, have I 
netted partriges with him in his 
broad fields, and often have I re- 
freshed myself with the mellow ap- 
ples, peaches and pears with which 
his orchard abounded. He taught 
me where to throw the fly for the 
finest trout, and I have heen privil- 
eged to ride behind him sometimes 
fox hunting, before I was able to 
back a horse alone. 

One evening Mr. and Mrs. Carrol 
and myself were seated around the 
fire place, and the old gentleman 
seemed to be in even a better humor 
than usual. He praised me so much 
that I would have thought he was 
making me his victim, had I not 
known from a long acquaintance 
with him, that whatever he said al- 
ways came from his kind and hon- 
est heart. He complimented his 
wife until she blushed, and went so 
far as to chuck her under her chin, 
to which favour she replied with a 
look which clearly intimated, that 
he should be ashamed of himself; 
but at the same time seemed to say 
that the owner of the eyes was 
rather pleased than otherwise at 
this indication of fondness. There 
had been a party at his house that 
evening — indeed the last couple had 
taken leave but a few moments be- 
fore — and a malicious person might 
have attributed the old gentleman's 
gayety to the number of glasses of 
wine he had drank with his young 



friends, but I affirm the contrary, 
and maintain that the exhiliration 
of his spirits was owing entirely to 
the good company and the mirth 
and happiness that had reigned 
among them. 

Mrs. Carrol had at least as 
much tact as women generally, 
and thinking that there was now 
a chance of becoming mistress 
of a secret to find out which she 
had often taxed her wits, unmask- 
ed her battery and opened fearless- 
ly upon her husband. 

"Frank," said she, "tell us now 
all about that mysterious miniature 
that you take out of your drawer 
sometimes and hang over so loving- 
ly." "Willie here," meaning myself, 
"is almost one of the' family, and 
I will not be jealous. Don't laugh, 
I know it's a woman's likeness. I 
can't promise you never to mention 
it, for if I live long enough, and 
there is anything in the story, I 
certainly shall." 

" You say you won't be jealous, 
my dear?" 

"Indeed I will not." 

I saw he was yielding, and press- 
ed him as closely as I could. Mrs. 
Carrol charged again. She spoke 
to the effect, that in his youth he 
was one of the handsomest men in 
the country, the best fox hunter, 
and the most jovial fellow to be 
found, and that the girls were dying 
for him. It was, therefore, only 
natural to suppose, that he should 
have been engaged in various little 

love affairs ; she meant nothing se- 
rious of course ; but only such in- 
nocent flirtations as good looking 
young persons may with propriety 
indulge in. 

This speech had the desired ef- 
fect. Mr. Carrol could hold out no 
longer, and agreed to comply, pro- 
vided Mrs. C. would assure him 
again that she should not grow 
jealous, and that I would interrupt 
him as few times as possible, allow 
him the privilege of telling the sto- 
ry in his own way, and not be- 
come impatient waiting for the re- 

We both admitted the reasona- 
bleness of his requests, and promis- 
ed — Mrs. Carrol not to allow the 
nearest approach of the green eyed 
monster, and I to listen with the 
gi'eatest attention and interest. 

" It was long ago," he began, 
" when the little episode in my life, 
which I am about to relate, took 
place; in fact its origin is one of 
my earliest recollections. I could 
walk around a chair without assis- 
tance and boast two teeth, when 
little Fanny Wilson occupied her 

" I made her acquaintance one 
fine Sunday at Church where we 
happened to meet for the first time, 
in this manner : 

" I had just been inducted into 
trousers that day, and had laid 
aside my red shoes for the smallest 
possible pair of bootees. I was 
equipped as elegantly as any one 


could expect, and when in addition 
to this I tell you that I pronounced 
two or three words accurately and 
jabbered incessantly, you may well 
conceive that I was an individal of 
no ordinary importance. My nurse 
felt the responsibility of her station, 
and added to her reputation by 
keeping me perfectly quiet during 
fehe whole of the service, by means 
of sugar plums and sweetmeats, 
with which she stuffed me until I 
could hold no more. 

" After the sermon, as we were 
strolling about in the grove, we 
found little Fanny and her nurse 
seated on a bench amusing them- 
selves with a rattle. We sat down 
beside them, and my inquiring mind 
prompted me to examine the rattle 
more closely. I leaned foi'ward and 
stretched out my hand to take the 
toy, when Fanny twined her fingers 
in what little hair I had and pulled 
until I roared with the pain. My 
nurse told me to strike her, I did 
so, and gave her a slap on the cheek 
with all the force I was able to mus- 
ter. She began to cry manfully 
which caused me to raise my voice 
to a higher key and sing out more 
lustily than before. Our nurses 
took up the quarrel, and awful in- 
deed would have been the conflict 
between these two doughty heroines 
had not the approach of my mother 
put an immediate stop to the con- 
troversy. So much for our first in- 

" Though Fanny's parents lived 

in sight of mine, and I saw her fre- 
quently, my attention was too in- 
tently fixed upon my bird traps, 
pet goats and other objects of in- 
terest to think about her. When 
questioned, I always stoutly denied 
entertaining a passion for her, al- 
though my sister would squeeze my 
hand with all the vim that seven- 
teen year.* could confer,to make me 
admit that she was my sweetheart. 
I was even savage enough, when 
the young gentleman who visited 
us would take me on their knees 
and tease me, to declare that I hated 
Fanny and would knock her down, 
stating as the result of my experi- 
ence, that women were for babies, 
and not a boy like myself who 
could set a trap and drive a goat, 
accomplishments of which I was 
very vain, and to which I was daily 
striving to add others. 

" One fine morning in May, my 
father called me to him. I had just 
been driving some nails into a fa- 
vorite apple tree for lack of any 
thing else to do, and I obeyed the 
summons, not without fears as to 
the result of the conference. But 
nothing was said upon this subject, 
and after receiving a book, togeth- 
er with some wholesome advice, I 
learned to my sorrow that I must 
start to school that day, and that 
it was time to be off immediately. 
"So off I went with a heavy 
heart, for there was no opposition 
to be made to any thing my respec 
ted parent, Benjamin Carrol, Esq., 



proposed. You may imagine what 
my feelings were as I trudged, along 
the little path over the hills to the 
schoolhouse, with my little basket 
with my dinner and book in it hang- 
ing on my arm. I was very much 
dijected, and the birds which sang 
bo sweetly all around, instead of 
cheering, only made me think how 
free and happy they were, while I 
had to go to school. As I was in- 
dulging in these reflections, I saw 
little Fanny a short distance before 
me going in the same direction that 
I was. I thought she might be go- 
ing with me, and as we love to have 
companions in our misfortunes, I 
quickened my steps and soon over- 
took her. Never being guilty of 
bashfulness, I asked her if she had 
to go to school. She replied that 
she did and her brother too ; but he 
.had run off with the basket and 
left her alone. She loved to go, 
Bhe said, and was not afraid of Miss 
Sevir and did not like her. She 
told me what she had learned, and 
promised to help me get my les- 
sons. She had such a nice play 
house on the hill by the spring 
which I was to share with her ; it 
was between two large trees and 
always shaded ; the floor was such 
pretty moss, and it was enclosed 
with such smooth stones from the 
branch ; then there were so many 
flowers growing near it. Her de- 
scription was that of an enthusiast, 
and she clapped her hands in a high 
glee and asked me if I would not 

live in her play house, and looked 
in my face so sweetly, that I thought 
she was the dearest little creature 
in the whole world. 

" We talked on after this manner 
until we reached the school-house. 
The scholars had just been called 
to books, so we went in and sat 
down together at a long desk. Mrs. 
Sevir, the mistress, though a rigid 
disciplinarian, made no objection 
to this. I was called up and my 
lessons for the day assigned, the 
same as Fanny's, for I had been 
taught some at home. I believe 
my pretty classmate did not recite 
so well that day as usual, at least 
the teacher said so and rated me 
well as being the cause of it, which 
I stood gallantly, and was glad that 
her wrath had fallen on myself and 
not on Fanny. 

"During recess we visited the 
famous play house, and were en- 
gaged in making various additions 
both to its beauty and comfort un- 
til we were called to study again. 
At noon we took our dinners there, 
and discussed them in the primitive 
fashion. In the afternoon I studied 
to a better effect than in the morn- 
ing, and in the evening I made some 
excuse to turn off from my road 
and go with Fanny, and Fred, her 
brother, nearly to their home be- 
fore I went to my own. Thus pass- 
ed my first day at school. 

"The night following was the 
first time I ever failed to sleep sound- 
ly when I went to bed. The same 



train of ideas would present them- 
selves to my mind again and again, 
and I was unable to control or di- 
vert them. 1 arranged my plans 
for future life. I had a house built 
and elegantly furnished, beautiful 
grounds laid off, a fine large farm 
well stocked, and was myself a gen- 
tleman of wealth and leisure, with 
no other care than the pleasure of 
making Fanny happy. The only 
question to be settled in my mind 
was, whether when wo rode out I 
should drive a pair of blacks or 
bays. When I finally went to sleep? 
the scenes of the day passed vague- 
ly and uncouthly before me. At 
one time I was going along with 
my sweet little classmate to school, 
and again 1 was preparing my reci- 
tation, or in the play house, or turn- 
ing away from the sharp glances oi 
Miss Sevir; and misteriously con- 
nected with it all was Fanny. You 
have guessed before this time that 
I was desperately in love. Well, 
so it was, and if ever there was a 
devoted lover it was myself. 

" I brought no more birds home 
from my traps, and my goats would 
bleat and rub their heads against 
me reproachfully tor having forgot- 
ten them- Instead of my old oc- 
cupations, I would be wandering 
about the field in quest of pretty 
flowers to make bouquets for Fan- 
ny, and if ever I had an unusually 
fine apple or any thing calculated 
to please her, she was certain to 
receive it. 

" I was not fond of studying, and 
my progress at school was not very 
rapid. Miss Sevir began to dislike 
me when she discovered my attach- 
ment, for the object of it was a kind 
of favourite with her, that is she 
was as kind to Fanny as you might 
suppose a disappointed maiden of 
forty to be to a little girl that any 
one of the male portion of human- 
ity was in love with. But for all 
this I deserved a!l the punishment 
I ever received at her hands, I dare 
say. Miss Sevir's mode of inflict- 
ing it was keeping in the culprits 
after school was dismissed in the 
evening, until their task was ac- 
complished, or until her good pleas- 
ure saw fit to let them go. Often 
have I been kept in until sun down 
and walked home in the twilight. 
I thought my lot was a hard one, 
but always when I came out of the 
school-house I would find Fanny 
waiting for me. She was rea- 
dy with a kind word of cheer 
and encouragement; but sometimes 
she would cry , bitterly when she 
thought I was troubled about it.-— 
I would invariable repty that I was 
a baby no longer, and did not care 
for Miss Sevir nor what she did.— 
No, not even if she kept in until 
next morning. 

On Saturdays and in the evenings 
when school was dismissed early 
and I was fortunate enough to get 
out with the rest, Fanny and I 
would ramble over the fields and 
meadows getting flowers to take 



home, and hunting bird nest's to 
look at the little speckled ego- s , and 
when they were hatched, picking 
berries and placing them where the 

old one might find them for food 

for the little ones. We would sit 

for hours on the bank of a little 

stream and watch the fishes that 
played below, and when tired of 
this amusement we would scamper 
off in search of other pleasures. 

" But our favorite place of resort 
was old Jack Linker's. He lived 
in what a poet might call a cottage, 
but which was nothing more nor 
less than a small, neat, log cabin a 
short distance from the river. He 
ppent his time chiefly in his canoe 
fishing, or in the woods with his 
gun, for Mrs. Linker contolled her 
aoble lord when he was at home as 
well as her household affairs. Old 
Tack had a little dog of no earthly 
ise whatever, and when you saw 
lis spotted face you might be sure 
as master was not far behind.— 
Whenever we went to his cabin, he 
ontrived to have melons, or a bas- 

et of fruit from his small orchard 
'they were in season, or something 

se that would please us equally as 

ell. He would take us to his fish 

aps and let us get out the fish.— 

any a time did we ride with 

'm in his canoe, and often have 

e listened to stories of his adven- 

ries in the woods or on the rivQr 

lien he was a young man. We 

ened our hearts to him, and he' 
; wed our happiness and our dis- 1 and broom 

tress. I can never forget how Fan- 
ny's little bosom would swell and 
how her eyes would sparkle, when 
she told old Jack of Mrs. Sevir's 
cruelty in keeping me in so often 
and so long when the rest were 
gone; and how she triumphed in 
the anticipation of cutting Mrs. 
Sevir'sacquaintance when she grew 
to be a woman herself. Old Jack 
always had a philosophical reply at 
his tongues end, which our young 
mind's were quite unable to com- 
prehend. "Our troubles were noth- 
ing," he would say, « besides what- 
ever was, was, and could not possi- 
ble be otherwise"; and many other 
observations similar in their nature 
would he make. Such Avere our 
happy school days, and such our 
joys and sorrows. 

" It is long since I was a child ; 
but I still look back with fondness 
to those peaceful sunny hours. I 
can recall many faces I was then 
familiar with, that I would not re- 
! cognize now. Where are they that 
were my companions then ? Jimmy 
Wylie, whom every one loved, I car* 
remember how he looked, his gen- 
tle face, his flaxen hair and his large- 
blue eyes. Poor fellow ! he died 
not long after I left school. And 
the rest of them ? Most are in their 
graves and the others are scatter- 
far, far apart and are old and gray 
like myself. A mound marks the- 
site of the school-house, and th& 
playground is grown up with pines 


Miss Sevir's. 



voice has long been hushed in death, 
and old honest Jack Linker's wife 
lies quiet beside him now in the 
peaceful country grave yard. The 
house where I was born stands no 
longer, and the home of Fanny's 
childhood has past into the hands 
of strangers. But to my story. 

" Miss Sevir was amply qualified 
to fit me for a good preparatory 
school, so I went to her three years, 
until I was thirteen. As there were 
few classical teachers then, I went 
more than a hundred miles from 
home to be prepared for College. 

" When I learned that I had to 
go, my heart almost broke. I went 
immediately and told Fanny. It 
was a sore trial for such tender feel- 
ings as ours were to endure; but 
we stood it nobly. Fanny declared 
she would write to me every day, 
and I was confident that I would 
do nothing else but read her letters 
and write back to her. 

" The day appointed for me to 
start soon came round. My trunk 
was packed full half a day before 
my father was ready to be oft', and 
I made use of this time to go and 
see Fanuy for the last time. 

" I found her alone, and told her 
that I had but a few hours to stay. 
She had mastered her feelings as 
long as she was able, but could hold 
out no longer, and sobbed as if her 
heart were breaking. Eig tears 
came in my eyes too, and dropped 
on Fanny's rosy hand which I held 
in mine. Wo would have married 

then if any one could be found who 
would have performed the ceremo- 
ny ; but such not being the case, we 
agreed to defer it until I had com- 
pleted my education, when I would 
come and claim her for my bride. 
I stayed as long as I possibly could, 
and when compelled to go, drew her 
to me, put a ring on her finger, 
kissed her and bade her good-bye. 
We parted with mutual pledges of 
constancy. Let the sequel show 
how faithfully they were kept. 

"Long, and wearisome were 
the three years I was at the pre- 
paratory department. I had gone 
home twice during my stay there ; 
but Fanny was always at the board- 
ing school in my annual vacations. 
My love for her though not express- 
ed as ardently as before, was still 
burning as purely and brightly when 
I was about to return home for the 
last time, as it ever did. 

" When I reached home I learned 
to my great gratification that Fan- 
ny had returned too, and was per- 
fectly beautiful. I determined to 
see her next day, and I did so. 

" I left her three years before a 1 
sweet little girl, and found her a 
lovely creature just blooming into 
womanhood. She was fully grown: 
a little below the medium height 
perhaps, but exquisitely proportion 
ed. Her face was bewitchingly at 
tractive. Her hair was jet, and he: 
eyes were large, blue, and lustrous 
Her black eye-brows were the mos 
graceful curves I ever saw ; her ey 

lashes were long and fine and the 

same colour with her hair. 

"She received me coldly, and 

whenever I would allude to our for- 
mer days, she adroitly changed the 
subject. Iknewnothowtoaccount 
for her altered behavior. I visited 
her several times afterwards and 
•ound her manner the same as at 
5rst Nothing I could say or do 
'ould induce her to alter it. The 
•ing I gave her was too small for 
m now, and she had laid it aside 

was forgotten-she loved another 

' I soon went to College where I 

»got all about her the first session 

I the end of the Freshman year 

*e gave me an invitation to her 


"Ihave seen her but once since. 
he had an infant in her arms, and 
kissed it for the mother's sake." 

"And the miniature ?" said Mrs 

"Fanny gave it to me." 


Smithville, 10th August, 1857 
Messrs. Editors .--Some time 
1Ce ' While at home, I vras rum 
•tging among my ancestral papers, 
d verily I made an important dis- 
7 ery, for among them I found 
'ers manuscript sheets of poetry 
ey were written in the last cen- 
J, and are on every imaginable 
fleet from the sportive and amo- 
•8 to the solemn and religious.— 
iad always been a mystery to 

where I obtained my poetical 

and musical talents, as my immedi- 
ate relatives with whom I was ac- 
quainted were entirely destitute of 
such qualities. I believe there is 
as much virtue in the blood of men 
as there is in the blood of horses, 
so I was perfectly at a loss; but 
the mystery is now solved and I 
wonder that I have not burst upon 
the world like a blazing meteor so 
much poetry did my revered ances- 
tor have in his soul; but I suppose 
i has been by the intermixture of 
he cooler and more phlegmatic 

bood of the Brown's, that tie po- 
etic fire of the Smith's has been 
smothered and their "dark eye 
beaming- prevented from rolling 
mphrensy instead of, as usual, in it's 
socket. 'Tistrue my poetic feel- 

mgs were very latent, perhaps im- 
perceptible to most people. Indeed 
their existence was very generally 

differently and Incus a non lucendo 
was sufficient proof. The old gen- 
tleman was not provident enough 
of his title to fame to put his name 
to his productions; but I can swear 
to his hand writing, having seen a 
great many of his letters, so that 
I am fully justified in announcing 
to the world that John Smith was 
one of its unappreciated great men 
and poets. I w m give a few Q ^ 
tracts from his writings ; but I will 
not quote very largely as I am now 
negotiating with the publishers for 
a very large and handsome edition 
(of the same style of binding as 


that which contains the beautiful 
poems of Robert Troup Paine,) 
which I intend to put out gratis as 
the most enduring monument I can 
erect to the genius of him whose 
descendant I am, and whose name 
I am proud to bear. Believing you 
to be men of taste, and wishing to 
assist your very worthy efforts to 
raise the standard of literature in 
our good old North State, I have 
determined to honor you by allow- 
ing you the privilege of publishing 
the first notice of the new work,as 
it will be of immense benefit to you, 
to be in any way connected with 
it. Perhaps I may find in my fu- 
ture researches, papers which may 
be of service in elucidating some 
contested point in the history of our 
State, for the Smiths were all ac- 
tors in the great drama of the Rev- 
olution. I send you as a great fa- 
vor a few stanzas in the "original," 
that you may publish Skfac simile of 
my ancestor's writing. In this age 
which is so remarkable for research 
into old family papers, every thing 
concerning them must be of interest. 
His manuscript bears the true im- 
press of genius, so much so, that 
had not I inherited his genius with 
his manuscripts, (by the way the 
only inheritance he left me,) I could 
not decipher it ; but even with this 
assistance I do not pretend to have 
mastered all his writings, and when 
I have spelled the words, I am some- 
times still at a loss to know what 
he means,for he has climbed heights 

to which I dare not aspire. I will 
begin my extracts with a simple 
though very beautiful and touching 
little fragment : 

Lo, what care I for mam and dad ? 

Why let them scold and bellow ; 
Por while I live I'll love my lad, 

lie's such a charming fellow. 

The last fair day, on yonder green, 
The youth he danced so well, 1 

So spruce a lad was never seen, 
As my sweet, charming fellow. 

The Fair -was over, the night was come, 
The lad was somewhat mellow ; 

Says he, my dear, I'll sto you home, 
I thanked the charming fellow. 

We trudged along, the moon shone bright, 

Says he, if you'll not tell, 
I'll kiss you here by thi3 good light, 

Oh ! what a charming fellow. 

You must remember that these 
lines were written in olden times 
when marriages were not made in 
heaven, but in the convenience of 
the old folks. We see the true re 
publican spirit exhibited. Well maj 
I be proud of my ancestor. I sus 
pect the old gentleman was narrat 
ing his own experience, (we Smith 
are all handsome.) The Fair wa 
over and naturally enough the nighl 
was come, and like a true gentle 
man, he offers to escort the lad} 
home. She thanks the eharmim 
fellow — ( we Smiths are irresistible. 
The lad was mellow as a gentlemai 
should be on State occasions — (th 
Smiths of the present day get mel 
low,too.) The moon shone brightly 
It is strange what an effect th 
moon will have on a mellow mar 


I have felt its influence myself, 
was under this influence the ol 



gentleman offered to kiss her when 
she, true to woman's nature, thinks 
1 O ! what a charming fellow." — 
The whole scene is painted so nat- 
arally and simply; yet, so touch- 
ingly and beautifully. There is such 
a deepth of feeling, and such an in- 
timate acquaintance with human 
nature displayed, that every one 
must at once exclaim — John Smith 
was a poet. The next of his light- 
;r productions that I will notice, is 
i little Homeric ode, which, in beau- 
ty of sentiment and sublimity of 
)hilosophical thought, will compare 
vith the poems of any man " be he 
lead or be he alive." 

Contented I am, and contented I'll be, 
For what can this world more afford, 

Than a girl that will sociably sit on my knee, 
And a cellar that is plentifully stored. 

My vault door is opened, descend every guest, 
Tap that cask ; aye, that wine we will try ; 

'Tis as sweet as the lips of" your love to your taste 
And as bright as her cheeks to your eye. 

Sound the pipe — 'tis in tune and those bins are 
well filled, 

View the heap of champagne in your rear, 
Von bottles are Burgundy, see how they are piled, 

Like artillery, tier over tier. 

My cellar's my camp, my soldier's my flask, 
All gloriously ranged in review; 
, When I look round, I consider my casks, 
As kingdoms I have yet to subdue. 

■ I charge glass in hand, and my empire maintain, 

>.'o aucient more patriot-like bled, 
t Bach drop in defence of delight I'll drain, 
. And myself for my foe I drink dead. 

( It is due to the old gentleman to 
y that he gave his verses the cor- 
-et number of feet, sometimes, by 
( -iting " and &" which is certain- 
within the limits of the license 
owed to poets. There is a great 

deal of secret meaning hid away in 
the last verses which is very apt to 
escape the reader in the first glance. 
Like that old wine, it is only upon 
repeated trials that all its virtues 
can be discovered. Had I space 
and time, I would unfold the beau- 
ties and philosophy of the piece. — 
I will do so in the book. Like 
Shakspeare my ancestor sometimes 
gathered the facts of his dramas 
from history. I have a highly in- 
teresting and instructive piece from 
his pen on the capture of Lord Corn- 
wallis. This is more artistically 
written than any of his productions. 
He describes every thing with min- 
uteness, yet without prolixity. His 
selection of language is critical and 
| judicious. It is a unique affair. As 
this is one of his best pieces I will 
j not destroy its effect by a quotation 
i and because the publisher objects. 
| Sometimes my grandfather's muse 
j took a loftier flight and on more 
solemn subjects. Indeed, he was 
very fond of expressing religious 
sentiments. He seems to have been 
a man of variable disposition as his 
writing will show. He had acute 
perception, tender feelings, and 
withal, was somewhat eccentric. — 
I will quote one stanza, composed 
in a solemn mood, perhaps the morn- 
ing after he had " charged " so gal- 
lantly "with glass in hand," and 
conclude my letter. 

The things eternal I pursue, 
The happiness beyond the view, 
Of those who basely pant, 
For things by mortals seen, 



Their honors and pleasures mean, 
I neither have nor want. 

"Peace be to his ashes." 
As I said before, the book will be 
furnished gratis on application to 
me. I have nothing aiore to add 
save that the title of the book will 





11 Be Donis," Multorum Smiths. 
Yery kindly, 

Of Smith v'ille. 


Mrs. Browning, in her dedication 
of " Aurora Leigh," calls it the 
most mature of her works, and that 
into which her highest convictions 
upon life and art have entered. — 
She says to the reader, in the very 
beginning — 

" I, who have written much in prose anrl verse; 
l'or other's vises, will Write now for mine, — 
Will write my story for my better self," 

and leaves him to expect very na- 
turally to hear, from the tone of her 
exordium, wise reflections from the 
experience of one who has looked 
at the world with a microscopic eye. 
And we think that he is not alto- 
gether disaj)pointed. As the poem 
is intended to be a picture of some 
of the different forms of life and 
character, it must of course take 
the form of a novel, and draw its 

representations from some of the 
different grades of human nature. 
This is quite a fashionable garb to 
dress treatises on life in no w-a-day »; 
and we do not object to it, for while 
it renders them more interesting, 
it makes their satire more palatable 
and yet more effective. Like a pill 
in a preserve, it gets into the dis- 
eased stomach, and begins its work 
of health betore the one who has 
taken it is aware of it. Some of 
the severest satires upon vice, and 
highest encomiums upon virtue 
are to be found in novels. It would 
be useless to cite instances. And 
when the novel is written in verse, 
so much the better, for, as Lord 
Chesterfield says, since verse is more 
difficult than prose, the more praise 
does the author of it deserve, and 
" the concord of sweet sounds " has 
certainly higher charms for the ear, 
Mrs. Browning has- lately favor- 
ed us with a poetical novel or story, 
as she calls it, of this sort. And 
as she intends to give it an air of 
''experience," as many authors- do 
their books of late, she must make 
her heroine introduce herself, with. 
" I am born," and then go on to 
write her chequered life, with ita 
sorrows and sunshines, and the final 
reward that virtue must receive.- 

The heroine Aurora Leigh is a 
mixture of English, and Italian 
blood. She cannot then pursue any 
other than a right course, with the 
cool firmness of Britannia to tempei 
the romantic ardor of Italy. He 



father " an austere Englishman " 
is "flooded with a passion una- 
ware," gets tired of his native coun- 
try and seeks the beautiful Florence. 
One day while he stands 

" Musing somewhat absently perhaps 

Some English question — whether men should pay 

The unpopular, but necessary tax," 

i he sees a train of priests and ban- 
mers and "rose-crowned maidens" 
: mo vi og on to church, and one among 
;them seizes his heart, he woos and 
•wins and marries the Tuscan maid. 
.Aurora is born; but ere she has 
seen four summers her beautiful 
.Tuscan mother dies and leaves her 

" Unmothered little child of four years old." 

Her father, to soothe his grief, seeks 
the green forests of Pelago, and 
lihere communing with his own 
thoughts, teaches his child lessons 
&f wisdom, while her young heart 
|8 inspired with the poetry of the 
floods and flowers. But death steals 
,,gain into this lovely retreat and 
lie Father dies. 

We may be excused then for quot- 
ing a rather long extract : 

? Then land 1 then England ! oh, the frosty cliffs 
Looked cold upon me. Could I find a home 
Among those mean red houses through the fog f 
And where I heard my father's language first, 
From alien lips which had no kiss for mine. 
I wept aloud, then laughed, then wept, then wept, 
| And some one near me, said the child was mad, 
Through much sea-sickness. The train swept us on. 
Was this my father's England?— the great isle? 
The ground seemed cut up from the fellowship, 
Of verdure, field from field, as man from man ;' 
The skies themselves looked low and positive, 
As almost yon coold touch them with a hand, 
And dared to do it, they were so far off 
From God's celestial crystals— all things blurred 
And dull and vagae. Did Shakspeare and his mates 
Absorb the light here ? Not a hill or stone 
With heart to strike a radiant colour up, 
Or active outline on the indifferent air." 

j " There ended childhood !— what succeeded next 
; I recollect as, after fevers, men 

Thread back the passage of delirium." 

Aurora is snatched from her love- 
'r Italy whose " blue hills " 

Brawn backward from the shuddering steamer-deck 
i 'ke one in anger drawing back her skirts, 
,:uich suppliants catch at," 

(^dually disappear from herstrain- 

,g eyes. After ten days, she reach- 

j- England, and the expressions of 

: ->r feelings on seeing it, so natural 

one who is forced into a strance 

ad constitutes, we. think, one of 

e finest parts of the whole poem. 

We can all sympathize with the 
tone of these lines, who have felt 
that sickening sensation which 
clouds over the heart, when we 
reach a strange land, where no fa- 
miliar faces beam upon us, and 
where the very mountains seem to 
"look cold upon us." The description 
of the impression made by cold, 
calculating England upon a stran- 
ger visiting its shores, seems to be 
very good, and accords with Mr. 
Emerson's account in his "English 
Traits." Aurora meets her aunt, 
her father's sister, a cool-browed 
English lady who had lived 

" A harmless life, she called a virtuous life ; 
A quiet life, which was not life at all, " 

the mistress of Leigh Hall. She is 
of course home-sick and cannot bear 
the sight of any thing— her thoughts 
will cluster around beautiful Flor- 
ence, and the grave of her father in 
Pelago. She fears her aunt and 
dislikes her cousin, Romney Leigh, 


who tries in vain to make the au- 
burn-haired girl love him ; but their 
natures are different — 

" Always Romney Leigh, 
"Was looking for the worms, I for the God's." 

• Thus seven gloomy years pass by 
until Aurora is twenty. Her mel- 
ancholy thoughts inspire her with 
poetry. Eomney dispairing of ever 
winning the maid, causes a poor 
seamstress girl, Marian Erie, to fall 
in love with him. But Lady Wal- 
demar, in whose employ Marian 
lives, loves Eomney too, and she is 
therefore driven out up on the world. 
Aurora has become acquainted with 
the poor girl, and loves her from 
sympathy with her misfortunes. — 
She has in the meantime written 
several works and earned enough 
money to take her and the unfor- 
tunate Maiian to her native home 
in Italy, where they are joined by 
Eomney. And here the poem ends, 
leaving them in the enjojnnent of 
an innocent seclusion from the 
world. Lady Waldemar is a well- 
drawn character — a lady fiend in 
human shape — a Eosa Dartle who 
whould avenge her own chagrin 
upon the most innocent object, with 
which she might meet. Marian Erie 
belonged to that class of persons, 
so ignorant of the wrongs of the 
world, an Alice Durvil, so innocent 
that she hardly knows right from 
wrong. And Eomney Leigh is one 
of those who would regenerate the 
human race, but knows not the 
means requisite to such a end. — 

Some of the scenes are rather too 
mysterious. The characters are 
upon the stage playing their part, 
before we know how they got there. 
When we are reading a novel we 
like for the scenes to follow each 
other in such a manner that a clear 
connection is kept up between the 
parts throughout. There is one 
fault which we have to find with 
Mrs. Browning, and one which is 
very common now-a-days with au- 
thors, and that is the clothing of 
her thoughts in too obscure lan- 
guage. We see no reason why a 
practice of this kind should be sanc- 
tioned. The reader must be con- 
tinually stopping to see what the 
author means, and if he has'nt time 
to do this, he must take a good deal 
for granted. We do not read words, 
but thoughts. The story is gener- 
ally well told, in an affecting man- 
ner, and we think that no one will 
account it a loss of time who has 
read it, and there are good philoso- 
phical thoughts interspersed thro'- 
out. The expression of Aurora's 
feelings on her return to Italy, comes 
to us as very natural and touching : 

" But then I did not think ' my Italy,' 

I thought ' my father '!— 0, my father's houso 

"Without his presence ! — places are too much 

Or else too little for mortal man. 

Too little, when love's May o'ergrows the ground ; 

Too much, when the luxuriant wealth of greon 

Is rustling to our ankles in dead leaves. 

'Tis only good to be, or here or there, 

Because we had a dream on such a stone, 

Or this or that; hut once being wholly waked, 

And come back to the stone without the dream, 

We trip upon 't— alas ! and hurt ourselves ; 

Or else it falls on us and grinds us flat, 

The heaviest grave-stone on this burying earth . 



And thus we leave Aurora Leigh, 
employing herself as an authoress, 
while poor Marian Erie, so innocent 
and simple, lives only to love her 



'Tis said that when in the early 
days of Greece her two great law- 
givers desired to give to their res- 
pective States a code of laws, which 
should be an aere monumentum pe- 
rennius of their fame, as lasting as 
time itself and should raise their 
Own States to the lofty position and 
proud eminence in the galaxy of 
nations, which they afterwards at- 
tained, and which is ascribed by all 
:o the effectual workings of those 
;odes, they first went travelling 
nto foreign countries, observing 
he customs and manners of differ- 
iint nations, making the constitu 
,ions and forms of government of 
111 the civilized States their peculiar 
Cudy, taking what was good, re- 
acting what was bad, so that in the 
,id, they had compiled a code of 
•ws embracing all the wisdom, 
ihieh the then state of civilization 
Imitted of, and had formed a plan 
;' government, which for that age 
as and is regarded the very acme 
human ability and foresight. To 
e intelligent foreigner who should 
sit this country of ours for the 
i rpose of studying our customs 
d inspecting the wisdom andprac- 
l al working of our institutions, : 

nothing perhaps would attract his 
attention sooner or more forcibly 
than the difference almost in nature 
between the two great divisions of 
our country — the North and the 
South ; and what would make the 
difference the more astonishing 
would be the fact that they are in 
most instances the same people — 
lineal decendants from the same 
ancestors— brothers not only in 
country and government, but also 
in blood ; and he would, I think, be 
at some loss to know to what to at- 
tribute this great difference in feel- 
ing and thought. And until he had 
made the history of this country 
and these people his subject of in- 
vestigation, and become intimately 
acquainted with all that has been 
brought to bear upon the inhabit 
tants of these different sections, 
! changing the channels of thought, 
and almost estranging the interests, 
the subject would remain one of the 
deepest mystery. That the people 
of the South had been the conser- 
vative portion of the Union he 
would not fail to observe, and this 
would perhaps be as astonishing as 
anything else. That people living 
under the genial clime of the South, 
their temperament bold and ardent, 
their bloods quickened by the heat 
of the southern sun, a people ren- 
dered ingenuous and impulsive by 
the natural position of their coun- 
try, should be the conservative par- 
ty, restraining the rabidity of the 
North, acting as a check to their 


impetuosity and fanaticism, and 
thereby protecting this great and 
glorious Republic from almost cer- 
tain destruction, this, I say, would 
be a subject of great astonishment 
to the intelligent foreigner, who, 
aware of the fact that a people's 
character is influenced in a great 
measure by the nature and position 
of their country, and acquainted 
with the character and disposition 
of nations inhabiting the South 
from all ages, would naturally ex- 
pect the reverse to have been the 
case. To briefly show this differ- 
ence is what I purpose, illustrating 
my remarks by a few instances in 
our country's history, showing the 
conservative spirit of the one, and 
the intemperate zeal and fanaticism 
of the other. 

Scarcely had the revolution clos- 
ed, and the people retired to the 
calm and seclusion of their own 
homesteads, with the fond expecta- 
tion and calm assurance of a peace, 
which should cheer and make glad 
the hearts of those men, who had 
fought and bled in a common cause 
for the greatest boon which God 
bestows upon a nation, the mainte- 
nance and security of their liberty, 
and who had hurled the aggressor 
from their shore, and had made the 
lion of haughty England to grovel 
in the dust, ere that sectional jeal- 
ousy, a nation's curse, which had 
unfortunately shown itself too often 
when their all was at stake, and 
which all the reverence they felt 

for the character of Washington in 
several instances could scarcely re- 
strain, now that they were at peace 
with all the world, and had no one 
to molest or make them afraid, 
again broke forth causing strife and 
contention among those who should 
have been brothers, and making 
the hearts of all good and great 
patriots quake with apprehen- 
sion, lest blind fanaticism should 
overthrow a government, which 
they hoped would be a model to all 
the world, and a practical demon- 
stration that a great and free peo- 
ple are capable of self-government. 
Abolitionism began to stalk forth 
over the whole length and breadth 
of the North. They had tried 
slaves and found them an unprofi- 
table investment — their' s was not 
an agricultural country. The ne- 
groes themselves, brought from the 
deserts and hot countries of Africa, 
used to the heat of a torrid sun, 
could not stand the cold of their 
winters — they began to sicken and 
give evidence that in a few years 
the race itself would almost be ex- 
tinguished. Then raised they a migh- 
ty cry of philanthropy, the milk of 
human kindness, which had lain 
curdled in their hearts as long as 
they hoped to make the negroes a 
source of wealth to themselves, as 
soon as they discovered that instead 
of a source of wealth they had al- 
ready become a sinking fund, then, 
warmed by the fears of empty pock- 
ets and philanthropy made to or- 


der and put on for the occasion, be- 
gan to flow ; and they, with a pre- 
tended virtuous aeal freed their 
slaves, and stood forth to the world 
as the champions of philanthropy 
and human rights, ready and wil- 
ling to sacrifice their wealth in a 
just cause. The South in their con- 
servative spirit calmly remonstrat- 
ed. They perceived their shallow 
artifice in making a virtue of ne- 
cessity, besides the South was en- 
tirely an agricultural country, and 
its very nature demanded slave op- 
eratives — they believed they were 
right in keeping them, and express- 
ed their determination to do so ; 
but the North, with a dog-in-the- 
imanger disposition, could not bear 
to see them enjoying, as a source of 
wealth, what had impoverished 
themselves, and they cried for abo- 
rtion. The South, with a spirit of 
conservatism worthy of less selfish 
jpponents, made all the concessions 
hat their pride as a people admit- 
ted of, until calm submission ceased 
)0 be a virtue, and had there not 
:»een men in those days, this mighty 
■abric of government might have 
leased to exist. Again and again, 
nave we been on the very brink of 
jirssolution from the same fanati- 
cism ; but I thank God that in his 
jadsdom and goodness, and in the 
-our of our greatest need, he rais- 
i up in the person of Clay, a David 
>r our house of Israel, who, with 
bismatchless eloquence for his sling, 
;id his calm sound reasoning for 

his sword, hath gotten himself the 
victory over the Groliah of Aboli- 
tionism. And even now we are not 
secure-^the breach has continued to 
widen between us — we no longer 
view them as brothers having com- 
mon interests, but as antagonists, 
ever upon the alert to injure our 
institutions. This state of things 
cannot last. Disunion, which years 
ago used to excite in the minds of 
good and patriotic men feelings of 
holy horror, and was used only by 
designing politicians, is now dis- 
cussed and considered by every one. 
The signs of the times, I am sorry 
to think, point to dissolution. But 
this is not the only instance in 
which the North has shown a want 
of conservatism. It is the hot-bed 
and cradle of all the isms of the 
day. They all are born and nour- 
ished there. Kossuthism, the poli- 
cy, in spite of the earnest admoni- 
tions of Washington and of all our 
great statesmen,of meddling with the 
affairs of foreign nations. Free-soil- 
ism, a modification of abolitionism, 
socialism or freelove-isrn, a disgrace 
to a civilized nation, and which 
even licentious profligate France 
would scorn to have originated — all 
had birth there, From all these I 
thank God the South is free — with 
but one exception she has never de- 
parted from her conservatism. In 
a portion of her domain fillibuster- 
ism has gained ground. And yet, 
is there not s one excuse for this — 
some palliation to offer ? The prin 



cipal aim of this movement has 
been the acquisition of Cuba, which, 
situated almost in sight of our 
shores, forming a natural fortress 
for the defence of the Gulf of Mex- 
ico, having in its borders mines of 
untold wealth, offers inducements, 
which would excite the mind of an 
anchorite — the pleasantness of its 
climate — its natural productions — 
its tropical fruits and beautiful flow- 
ers, everything that is charming to 
the eye or pleasing to the taste. 

" Oh, Christ, it is a goodly sight to see, 
What Heaveu hath done for this delicious land, 

What fruits of fragrance blush on every tree, 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand." 

These are the inducements she 
offers, and these aided by the thought 
that by her very position, God in- 
tended that she should belong to 
the United States, are the excuses 
which have to be made and taken 
for the conduct of the South. With 
the consciousness 1 , then, that our 
country has acted rightly, need we 
not be proud of her, and vow a while 
we live to cherish, protect, and de- 
fend her from the aggressions of 
foes without, or the oppressions of 
enemies within. 


In ho place are the idiocyncracies 
of human nature more strongly 
grouped together than in an insti- 
tution similar to our own. We may 
indeed take this as a world in min- 
iature, for here we find exponents 
for every class of character. Here 
is the coxcomb with the doll-like 

dress ; the hypocrite With feigned 
godliness; the christian with his 
humility ; the pedant with his vain 
display of wisdom ; the buffoon, the 
wit and the poet ; the punster, the 
politician and the preacher; the 
blackguard, the i ake and the drunk- 
ard ; and just as many other com- 
binations as you can well imagine. 
Then we need not go abroad for 
examples of Young America. No ; 
we have daily veritable specimens 
passing within three feet of our 
noses. It would afford exquisite 
pleasure and satisfaction to the 
scientific world to determine his 
composition. But here all the rules 
of analysis furnished by Chemistry, 
all the demonstrasions of Mathe- 
matics, and all the conclusions of 
logic, fail and leave us still in doubt 
as to the "stuff" of this species of 
the genus homo. True, we can look 
upon his exterior, his slender and 
erect form, his mild and getttle eyes, 
his nicely turned mustache^ and his 
ujppertendom gazes ; yet still it would 
require all the astrologers and sooth- 
sayers, Junos and Jupiters of an- 
tiquity to divine the end for which 
he was placed amongst us. The 
fact is, he is a little ahead of every 
body in every thing. He wanders 
at nothing, is surprised at nothing. 
No incident, however strange in it- 
self can be related in his hearing 
but what he has heard or seen one 
a little more marvellous still. It is 
his peculiar ambition to be in the 
van of fashion, and to this end he 



parades the " latest out " with re- 
gard to the stripe on his pants, the 
buttons on his coat and the cut of 
his collar. He appears on the 
street with the most approved saun- 
ter of the Broadway loafer, with 
his head high (as it is light) in na- 
tive ether, a cigar in his mouth and 
a sword-cane in his well kidded 
hand. His conversation runs on 
that in which he glories — ' paping' 
and 'deviling the Faculty.' He 
talks largely to the perfect amaze- 
ment of his Fresh companions of 
the quantity of liquor he can drink, 
and of the tobacco he can smoke. 
He is wonderfully destitute of any 
decision of mind formed by deliber- 
ate reasoning ; and with him whims 
serve as a substitute, (a poor one it 
must be admitted,) for principles. 
The whole bent of his contracted 
soul is to win the applause of those 
equally silly as himself, it never 
having once entered his mind that 
there is such a thing as promoting 
true benevolence. He is content to 
treat, to natter, and to humbug, if 
by this he can increase his chance 
of reaching the position of Ball- 
manager, the ultima thule of his 
i aims. He has a most supreme con- 
tempt for the old fogy who is con- 
tent to plod his weary way to 
t knowledge by grubbing at the root 
j of Greek verbs, and prizing with 
1 the lever and fulcrum at the hard 
Mathematics. He will never both- 
er his head about xy and z — cui 
J bono ? He is determined to take 

the "royal road to learning" and, 
therefore devotes his time to general 
reading (f) He appears at recita- 
tion well armed with papes and 
pocket editions and all the subterfu- 
ges of a miserable scholar ; and he 
is almost sure to declare tahis neigh- 
bor with regard to the lesson that 
he has not seen it, and this deelara-v 
tion the Prof, never calls in ques- 

Time rolls on. By dint of skill 
in < paping,' and the kind whispers 
of his fellows, he slides along with 
a report varying from ' respect/ 
1 tol/ < bad ' to a. ' g — r.' He rises 
to be Junior, is elected Ball-mana- 
ger and considers that he has a- 
chieved glory enough for the meas- 
ure of his ambition. He passes 
into the Senior Class, receives that 
for which he came to College — i.. e. 
" Hoc Diploma," bows himself off 
the Commencement stage, falls in 
love with girl for her fine dancing, 
gets married, and is heard of na 
more ! STEEL PEN. 

■ <««»> ■ 


We hare not met sweet bird of song, 

And yet I've heard thy trembling notes* 
As distant sounds born on the winds, 

That gently, sweetly, onward float. 
And to those notes I've listened oft, 

While o'er my soul a music swept, 
So gently soothing and so soft, 

That at those sounds I've often wept. 

Yet 'twas not that my heart was sad, 

That bade those quivering teardrops flow, 
For o'er my soul there came a smile, 

Whose sweetness they alone can know, 
Who've tuned their hearts to minstrelsy 

And sang their own sweet spirit's song-*- 
Ah, tears will fall, yet nameless tears, 

If those sweet chords be swept too long. 

Thy song, sweet Nannie, came when I 
Had dreamed I'd sang my last sod note 



Had dreamed my harp strings broken all, 
That o'er those strings no more would float. 

The music that my soul had taught 
That harp in other, brighter years, 

When dreams seemed in themselves so real, 

- That hope could know no nameless fears. 

And thou hast waked my song again, 

Wilt teach me now thine own sweet air ? 
That I may warble back each strain, 

That from thy harp comes soft and clear. 
I would forget what I have sung, 

'Tis burdened with too many a sigh ; 
I'd catch from thee thy spirit's notes — 

Sweet minstrel of the soul good-bye. 

Virginia, August, 1857. 

4 9-9 » » 

The following, we are told, is the 
production of a lad of twelve years. 
We insert it for the benefit of our 
youthful readers, hoping that it will 
encourage them to similar efforts. 
For ihey know not what they can 
do until they exert themselves : 


How awful, how great, how sublime. 
Is the grandeur of waves as they roll ? 

What thoughts they inspire in the mind — 
What awe they present to the soul ? 

See you yon blue wave ascending, 

Triumphantly over the rest — 
Now o'er the bright waters bending 

Its silvery foam whitened crest ? 

Having gained its loftiest height, 

It dashes itself on the shore, 
And all its gay beauty, so bright, 

Disappears and we see it no more. 

Methinks in the distance I see 

A ship of snowy white sail, 
And tho' humbly she bows to the sea, 

Is bravely sustaining the gale. 

See, she approaches so nigh, 
That men can be seen on the deck ; 

But soon she passes us by, 
And becomes a dim little speck. 

Night steals on and closes the scene, 
As the sun faintly sinks in the West, 

All the actors retire — waves only are seen, 
Whose Maker forbids them to rest. 




Hume and Abercrombie. — Like 
honest Fielding, we scorn to deceive 
the reader, who if he finds nothing 
in the outset to interest him, need 
accompany us no further in the sub- 
ject with the vain hope of discovering 
something more congenial to his 
taste. Begging pardon, then, if we 
happen to overstep the modesty 
which editors of College Magazines 
are supposed to possess, we shall en- 
deavor to show,that Dr. Abercrom- 
bie, when he takes up the celebrat- 
ed argument of Mr. Hume against 
the Christian religion, does not pre- 
sent it as its author intended it 
should be ; that he restricts it with- 
out a sufficient reason, and by this 
restriction attempts to prove its fal- 

" Twelve witnesses I admit, " 
says the infidel philosopher, " agree 
in testifying that a man rose from 
the dead, I am consequently com- 
pelled to believe one or two things, 
either that twelve men agreed to 
tell a lie, or that a man rose from 
the dead. Either of these suppo- 
sitions is, I confess very extraordi- 
nary ; but as one or the other must 
be true, I must admit the one that 
is least extraordinary. Now it 
seems to me more probable that 
men should lie, than that one who- 



had been several days dead should 
return to life again ; for it is a very- 
common thing in this world for men 
to testify falsely ; but it is l contra- 
ry to all experience/ that a man 
should rise from the dead." 

" This in fact," remarks Dr. Ab- 
ercrombie, "is the same mode of rea- 
soning that induced the King of 
Siam to reject the statement of wa- 
ter becoming solid. This was en- 
tirely contradicted by his ' firm and 
unalterable experience/ and there- 
fore could not be received." Now 
the King of Siam rejected the state- 
ment because it was contradicted 
by his own experience, and not by 
that of the human race from the 
earliest period. Hence for the two 
cases to be analogous, the words, 
* contrary to all experience," used 
by Mr. Hume,, must be limited to 
his own personal observation. That 
this is not the meaning of the wri- 
ter must be evident simply from 
what he says : "It is very common 
in the world" and " contrary to all 
experience." Here in both cases 
the history of the past is equally 
appealed to. 

But let us see if we can, why the 
term experience is restricted. 

It is no easy task to do so. We 
are told that all knowledge receiv- 
ed independent of our senses is de- 
rived from testimony, and are left 
to infer from what follows, that if 
Mr. Hume refuses to believe in mir- 
acles upon the evidence of testimo- 
ny, he must either be inconsistent, 

or must place no confidence in this 
species of proof in relation to other 
things. We are far from admitting 
the alternative. We may laugh at 
the ghost stories of a superstitious 
old lady, and rely upon her veraci- 
ty when she tells us to walk in to 

We do not believe that according 
to his principles Mr. Hume could 
have no faith in the existence of 
" volcanoes, boiling springs, earth- 
quakes," and the other phenomena 
of nature. What is said in refer- 
ence to the miraculous does not ap- 
ply to the marvellous. The former 
consists in a change of the estab- 
lished order of nature ; the latter, 
although it may seem similar, and 
at first appear incredible, may be 
on examination accounted for upon 
principles which are known to be 
true. Hence we think that Dr. 
Abercrombie is not warranted in 
saying, that if upon the evidence 
of testimony, we refuse to believe 
that the established order of things 
has been violated, we cannot receive 
as true upon the same evidence 
what happened in accordance with 
this established order. 

That the argument is " little bet- 
ter than a play upon words," we 
deny. When any thing is predica- 
ted of a subject and an argument 
is deduced from this predication, if 
this be a play upon words, then we 
admit that this puerile method of 
reasoning has been adopted, 
i The remarks have not been made be- 



cause the writer is a disciple of 
Hume. But when skeptics see ar- 
guments against our religion not 
presented in their full power, they 
are apt to imagine that they are 
misrepresented,for the fact that they 
are unanswerable. Thus their 
doubts are often confirmed. Mr. 
Hume's argument has been com- 
pletely overthrown, independent of 
the fallacy alluded to. He refuses 
to believe in miracles wrought in 
support of any system of religion. 
Now a miracle is the only way we 
can conceive of a messenger authen- 
ticating his divine mission ; hence 
Mr. Hume is forced to believe that 
the Supreme and All Powerful Be- 
ing has so constituted his rational 
creatures, as to be unable to make 
a communication to them if he 
-willed it, 

There are other arguments based 
upon the moral probability of mir- 
acles equally as conclusive; but to 
us, this is sufficient, its force is ir- 

Wayland ,on Slavery.— We do 
not suppose that this section of Dr. 
Wayland's work on Moral Soience 
has been suffered to paBS without 
an answer ; still a few reflections 
which were suggested while reading 
the book may not be out of place 
in our Editorial Table. Our re- 
marks will be confined to the single 
point, Is slavery in opposition to 
the teachings of the New Testa- 
ment ? — for if we are able to come 

to a conclusion by referring to this 
standard, the question is settled 

Dr. Wayland begins with quoting 
the golden rule, and endeavors to 
show that slavery is contrary to 
the principle there laid down. Now 
pro-slavery writers deny this ap- 
plication, and the Doctor, instead 
of meeting the arguments which 
go to prove that the institution is 
sanctioned, takes it for granted that 
it is condemned, though he does it 
in such an artful manner, that it 
may not at first sight be discovered. 

Some reflections upon this subject 
are made, which will be considered 
presently, and some, which have 
no bearing upon the question, as for 
instance, (< Would the Gospel allow 
us to reduce our fellow citizens of 
our own colour to slavery •" where 
the writer seems to forget that no 
such right is claimed, but one en 
tirely different. 

We do not admit what Dr. Way- 
land thinks will be regarded as a 
fair statement by both parties, viz : 
that <l The moral principles of the 
Gospel are directly subversive of 
the principles of slavery j but on 
the other hand the gospel neither 
commands masters to manumit their 
slaves, nor authorizes slaves to free 
themselves from their masters ; and 
also it goes further and prescribes 
the duties suited to both parties in 
their present condition." If the 
moral principles of the Bible are 
opposed to slavery, there is an end 



to the controversy. But because a 
principle in regard to it is not laid 
down in so many words, we are far 
from believing no such one exists. 
The fact is we can infer a principle 
as truly as any thing else, and such 
inferences every reader of the New 
Testament must make. 

It is not denied, that whether 
God makes known his will either 
directly or indirectly, it is equally 
binding. Thus if he has imposed 
certain duties which are incompati- 
ble with the existence of domestic 
slavery, we must bow as submis- 
sively as to a direct command. Has 

he done so ? 

To prove that he has, Dr. Way- 
land reasons as follows : 1. It is 
our duty to proclaim the gospel to 
every creature ; we must, therefore, 
give every creature every means of 
obtaining a knowledge of it, and 
place no obstacles in the way of 
its acquirement. 2. God has estab- 
lished the conjugal relation and man 
must not dissolve it. 8. He has 
imposed upon parents and children 
appropriate and peculiar duties. 

To the first we reply, that so far 
(from obstacles being placed in the 
Wave's way in learning his duty to 
tns Creator, he is brought directly 
faithin the pale of Bible influence. 
His master is commanded to teach 
aim the truths of religion, which 
f he fails to do, he will be fearfully 
tudged. We see, then, that advan- 
| >;age acrue to the slave in this res- 
1 i«ct which he would most probable 
| tot enjoy in a different position. 

We are pained to confess that as 
slavery exists, the conjugal relation 
is totally disregarded. If the in- 
stitution could not be perpetuated 
without this being the case, we 
would cry enough and yield the 
question. But it is not at all ne- 
cessary to its existence, and many 
good men and true, here at the 
South, would not only willingly, 
but gladly see the rite of matrimo- 
ny among slaves recognized by law. 
It always should have been so. — - 
Man and wife should be regarded 
as one person, and never in any case 
be separated. What, perhaps, pre- 
vents this from being so now, is the 
inconvenience that would at first 
result from it, which with the great 
mass of mankind weighs heavier 
than a moral obligation. But 
let it be remembered that the evil 
referred to, has not the slight- 
est tendency to destroy the insti- 

God has established parental and 
filial relations. The child is bound 
to honour and obey the parent, but 
the parent is bound to obey his mas- 
ter — except, of course, when hia- 
conscience forbids — and in doing so 
he can command his child to do 
nothing in which he may not obey 
him. And on the other hand, it is 
the master's duty, he being in th© 
place of a parent, to support th© 
child and bring him up in the nur- 
ture and admonition of the Lo?d. 

Having disposed of this argu- 
ment, whether satisfactorily ox n,o4 



our readers must determine, let us 
look at a dilema which is deduced 
from it. We say dilema, for it is a 
perfect one with a single exception, 
that is, it has but a single horn, at 
least we can seat ourselves very 
complacently upon one, and expe- 
rience no uneasiness. 

To quote the words of the book, 
" These relations either are, or are 
not inconsistent with the existence 
of domestic slavery. If they are 
inconsistent with the existence of 
slavery, then slavery is indirectly 
forbidden by the Christian religion. 
If they are not inconsistent with 
it, then that interference with them 
which slavery exercises is as it 
would be in any other case; and is 
the infliction of just so much gra- 
tuitous, inexcusable, and demoral- 
izing misery. And as we have be- 
fore said, what is indirectly forbid- 
den in the scripture is as truly for- 
bidden as though it were directly 

Now it appears to us, that if they 
are not inconsistent with it, that 
" the interference with them which 
slavery exercises" is uncalled for 
and not necessary to its existence ; 
that the institution is not on this 
account to bear the blame, but the 
unlawful abuse of it. This argu- 
ment, we think, is foreign to the 
subject, unless, indeed, we believe 
that Dr. Wayland after supposing 
that specified relations are not in- 
consistent with the existence of 
slavery, links this to a middle term 

which contains the conclusion that 
they are inconsistent with it. 

If any thing is forbidden, it mat- 
ters not how it is done — our duty 
is plain. We, therefore, pass over 
the topic next in order, and shall 
consider whether obedience is en- 
joined upon slaves because their 
masters have a moral right to com- 
mand them, or upon the ground 
that submission under injury iB 
pleasing in the sight of God. 

Dr. Wayland asserts the latter, 
and makes a distinction — which 
will presently appear — which we 
will leave to Theologians. It is suf- 
ficient to remark, that Prof. Tay- 
lor, of Yirginia, has compelled the 
Doctor seriously to doubt whether 
the distinction is sustained by the 
New Testament. 

If slaves are commanded to obey 
their masters because submission 
to injury is pleasing to God, then 
we are not only not to return injuries, 
but are not suffered to free our- 
selves from them, and must pass 
our lives in hopeless misery beneath 
unjust oppression, and make no ef- 
fort to ameliorate our condition, 
even when this does not conflict 
with the rights of another. This 
is utterly repugnant to our notions 
of the Bible's teachings. If Dr. 
Wayland were captured and reduc- 
ed to^slavery, would his conscience 
forbid him to embrace the first op- 
portunity that offered for escape 1 
And we must further admit, that 
our Lord, instead of rebuking the 



perpetrators of such outrages, only 
modifies the evil, that the burden 
may fall a little lighter upon the 
backs of the sufferers. But what 
saith the Scriptures ? 

Notice particularly in what con- 
nection the relation of master to 
the slave is given. Paul tells Titus 
to speak the things that become 
good doctrine ; that " The aged 
men be sober and grave ; that the 
aged women be likewise ; that the 
young women love, and be obedi- 
ent to their husbands that the 
word of God be not blasphemed ; 
that the young men be sober mind- 
ed; and that the servants obey their 
masters and show all good fidelity, 
that they may adorn the doctrine 
of God our Saviour in all things." 
Here we see the various exhorta- 
tions addressed to young and old, 
male and female, bond and free ; 
and in another place the respective 
duties of parents and children are 
added. Now does it not seem ex- 
tremely singular, according to Dr. 
Wayland's view, that the Apostle 
should in this connection, so sud- 
denly, and without giving notice, 
break the thread of discourse, and 
command servants to obey their 
masters upon a different principle 
from that upon which children are 
to obey their parents, and do this 
without even in the slightest degree 
intimating the different nature of 
the obligation ? It does seem that 
every candid reader cannot fail to 
give these passages of Scriptures 

their simple and obvious meaning. 
We may add here, that the reason 
assigned for servants obeying their 
masters, " That the name of God 
and his doctrine be not blasphem- 
ed," and which is Italicized by Dr. 
Wayland as fortifying his position, 
is also given as a reason why wives 
should obey their husbands. A 
"strong minded woman" at a 
Bights Conventien might apply this 
argument with the same force and 
with equal propriety. 

But what should settle this ques- 
tion forever, is, that Paul writes to 
Timothy thus : '•' And they that 
have believing masters, let them 
not despise them, because they are 
brethren ; but rather do them ser- 
vice, because they are faithful and 
beloved, and partakers of the ben- 
efit." Now if Dr. Wayland's view 
be correct, we must believe one of 
two things ; either that Paul is un- 
worthy of confidence, or that a man. 
who continues to violate the law 
of his God, by the infliction of the 
grossest injustice upon a fellow crea- 
ture by depriving him of his near- 
est and dearest rights, is in this 
state of wickedness recognized as 
a believer, called faithful and belov- 
ed and a partaker of the benefit. 
The Apostle proceeds : " These 
things teach and exhort. If any 
man teach otherwise, and consent 
not to wholesome words, even the 
words of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
and to the doctrine which is accord- 
ing to godliness, he is proud, know- 



ing nothing, but doting about ques- 
tions, and strifes of words, where- 
of cometh envy, strife, railings, evil 
surmisings, perverse disputings of 
men of corrupt minds, and desti- 
tute of the truth, supposing that 
gain is godliness ; from such with- 
draw thyself." 

A Poem with remarks there- 
upon. — The following verses are 
from Stella and Minnehaha, and as 
the names intimate, the production 
is a satire ; for who can think of 
Stella and not remember Swift, or 
of Minehaha without having Q. K. 
Philander D. suggested. Why the 
writer has taken two names for his 
Bignature, and why he wishes to be 
thought a lady — rather two ladies 
— we cannot imagine. Perhaps one 
or both of the names— but let him 
epeak for himself: 

He is gone, tho sweet musician 1 
He the sweetest of all Bingers ! 
He who sang of '• starry hours," 
Through the echoing dells and woodlands. 
No more along the eddying torrent, 
Chimes his voice with laughing waters ; 
No more he kneels upon the grasses 
Gathering red and anowy b.errieB, 
Or within the vine wreathed lattice 
Romps with us in blindfold revels ; 
No more within the dairy hidden, 
He quaffs the stolen honey crabber, 
Nor from the rivers dashing waters 
Leaps the trout into his basket ", 
No more on craggy Bluff reposes 
Where hearts and hats are " Jost, lost, \o&\, eh." 
In vain he veils his sleeping beauty, 
Or " rock beside the sea " o'er hearing 
Shakes the tall tree tops with laughter ; 
Or the rocky steep np-climbing, 
■ " Feeds the (/i)oss-eous formation \ 

Alas! alas! he's "g->ne forever," 
Alas the " ruin he has made " 
^fe look for Autumn, but 'twill bring us 

Only sighing winds to mock us. 

When in winter stars are brightest, 

Shall those eyes so soft and fawn-like 

In our dreams alone smile on us ? 

But when the gentle Spring time cometh 

And the birds are singing gayly, 

And the streamlets flowing swiftly, 

Then our hearts shall leap with gladnasa — 

Leap as waves beneath the sunshine, 

For he cometh will he not ? 

We pressed the writer to tell us 
who " he " is, and to throw light 
on some of the dark passages ; but 
he stoutly refuses to do so. Tho 
only satisfaction we could get was, 
that " he " is a dreaming kind of a 
gentleman and withal a powerful 
eater.. " S. and M." stated that he 
has sent a copy of the above verses 
to " him " with the intent and pur- 
pose to deceive, But he pleads in 
extenuation, that " he " must have 
diseo v r ered the hoax by the allusion 
to his gastronome powers ; for " he 
gathers berries " and " quaffs honey 
clabber" — a Dutchman's favorite 
beverage by th e way. To the effect 
that " he " might not believe the 
compliments so profusely sprinkled 
to be genuine without an intimation, 
of his error, the writer assures us 
that he has repeated " in vain " — 
" no more " — and been careful to 
Italicize the word "blind," so that 
if he falls, he falls not without 

Eeverie of a Senior. — Nearly 
four years in College ! Heigh ho J 
To look back the time seems short; 
but it has not all passed swiftly and 
in sunshine. My student lite will 



soon be ended, and then — the great 
world. Even now its light is glim- 
mering through my prison bars, 
and the murmur of its cenf used noise 
is heard in the distance. But the 
rays that break upon me are omin- 
ously dark, and the roaring of life's 
ocean, far off and scarcely heard, 
sounds like the still small voice that 
sighs on the breeze before the com' 
ing tempest. 

Childhood — Boyhood—- Youth- 
Manhood — Old Age-— I have passed 
the first two statges. They have 
their joys, and — alas ! their sorrows 


Shall I be as unfortunate hereaf- 
ter as I was in my early years ? I 
hope not. I was shunned then by 
my school-mates. I would gladly 
have had a friend and companion 
and joined in the plays with the 
boys ; but they avoided me, and at 
my approach would put a stop to 
their amusement, or not permit me 
share to it. Perhaps it was because 
I had no one at home to dress me 
nicely and comb my hair— my toi- 
let was sadly neglected, I well re- 
member — or it may have been that 
it was something naturally repul- 
sive about me, which drove every 
one away. Yes, they drove me 
from them, but I had my pleasures 
still. Why may I not yet enjoy 
such pleasures ? Have I become 
too hardened ? Ah ! I was a boy 

The old fashioned library — I can 
*ee it now. Tillotson's sermons, 

Eollin's history and Shakspeare, 
standing decidedly in the fore- 
ground -, the Spectator, the Eambler 
and others of a like kind neatly ar- 
ranged in the upper shelves, and 
sustained by the heavier works be- 
low. The dust lies thick on these 
volumes, they are rarely disturbed. 
The books are covered with a light, 
green mould, for there is no one to 
turn their pages. 

The Arabian lights — delighted 
was I when I accidentally found it 
there, buried among old papers and 
pamphlets — how eagerly I devour- 
ed its contents ! Care? Trouble? 
I had none, what was the world to 
me ? I lived in one of my own. 

I had but two companions; uncle 
Jack, an old, decrepit African, and 
Carlo — poor dog — that I had saved 
from being drowned when a puppy. 
Happy were the hours I passed 
with my two friends. A venerable 
locust tree stood near the end of 
the kitchen — it has been cut down 
since then — and often beneath its 
shade, did I relate to them the won- 
ders I had read. Uncle Jack would 
stare in mute amazement, and his 
small, dim eyes would recover some- 
thing of their former expression ; 
and Carlo would listen very atten- 
tively, occasionally rubbing his 
smooth, white throat down my leg 
and looking up into my face as if 
he meant to express the gratitude 
he owed me — unfortunate was thy 
doom faithful one ! 

We were much together. Uncle 



Jack could do little more than bob- 
ble on his crutches from the shady, 
to the sunny side of the street, so 
he was always at home. He used 
to sing some wild, chaunt-like songs, 
that no one ever understood. They 
consisted more of action than of 
words, if indeed they were compos- 
ed of words. He would begin low 
and his voice would grow louder as 
he went on, and his frame quiver 
with excitement. How he used to 
throw out his withered arms in his 
enthusiasm, and try to jump up on 
his feet ! But he was too old to 
rise without the help ofhis crutches. 
Did he hear these songs sung in his 
father-land, and did their wierd 
music recall the days of childhood, 
his paternal hut, and his sands and 
shade trees ? 

Long and faithful has been thy 
service, uncle Jack ; but thy allot- 
ted time is almost run ; few, very 
few, more summer suns will pour 
their kindly warmth upon thee, for 
thou art old and weary. Soon will 
they carry thee to thy last resting 
place. Not many will follow thee 
there ; the clods will rattle on thy 
coffin, and thou wilt be forgotten 
by all but me. Thy life has been 
a lonely one. No children or grand- 
children, nor any loved one will 
drop a tear on thy grave. Thy fa- 
ther and mother sleep in Africa, and 
brothers and sisters were unknown 
to thee ; no wife cheered thy man- 
hood or soothes thy old age. Ah ! 
but thou wilt be still remembered. 

When thou hast passed away I will 
not forget how thy eyes filled and 
thy voice faltered to welcome me 
home in vacations ; no, nor the 
grasp of thy stiffened, hardened 
hand, nor thy simple words of wel- 
come. No, I will not forget undo 
Jack ; if I survive him, I will often 
visit the little mound where he 
rests, in the dim twilight, and muse 
upon olden times and offer the 
only tribute of affection that may 
be given. Ha ! my eyes are moist 
now; but then he will soon be hap- 
py. Going — gone — Is the language 
everything speaks. 

I buried Carlo, and the stone I 
placed at his head, has long been 
overgrown with moss. An inhu- 
man wretch shot him. I nursed 
him, with an aching heart, until 
he died. This was my first sorrow. 
Ah ! I have had many since. 

Nearly four years in College ! — 
Heigh ho ! The past does not seem 
like a dream. Eeal things have 
been there. Katie was not an im- 
aginary being. Her face was a sun- 
ny one ; why might not our paths 
have been the same ? Then there 
was Euguenie more beautiful than 
the full rose. A boquet of wither- 
ered fiowers that her taper fingers 
gathered lies in my desk; they have 
been there a long, long time, and 
have outlived the affection that gave 
them. Few are like Eugenie in beau- 
ty and wit ; she queens it in the 
realm of fashion. I wonder if she 
ever — ha ! I grow womanish. 




Nearly four years in College ! — 
Upon the verge of life with a thou- 
sand brilliant promises beconing to 
me. Which shall I follow ? Fame ! 
Biches and Bower ! Domestic Hap- 
piness ? Men say the last, for the 
others bring not contentment. But 
after all, is not domestic happiness 
as much a dream? 

Begone wild vagaries ; I will soon 
be on the stream; but my heart is 
buoyant and my arm feels strong. 

To Contributors. — No article 
will be published unless the writer 
gives us his name. 

Let the author of " The Dream 
i that was dreampt by your Uncle," 
i choose another subject and he may 

" K. McFatt ;" Your verses are 
somewhat irregular, and want 
smoothness in places. You say it 
is your first attempt ; don't be dis- 
couraged then, but try again. Take 
our advice and write prose next 

"Musings on the Waccamaw,"(we 
believe that is the name,) has been 

The article beginning " Barbara 
Celarent,&c," is laid aside for future 
consideration. It is witty and sen- 
sible, and the argument to prove 
that " all animals are not birds," 
though elaborate is perfectly satis- 

" On having my Ambrotype re- 
turned by a lady to whom I sent 
it," is entirely too doleful a sound 

to ring in the ears of our readers. 
Be a man " Bobin," and we can 
sympathize with you. 

The " Lines to Mary," are buried 
forever in our Balaam Box. 

Beware the Serpent. — A writer 
in Harper's Weekly, speaking of a 
certain kind of New York litera- 
ture, says : " That to his certain 
knowledge this beastly journal 
which for undisguised indecency 
transcends Firon, and equals the 
Marquis de Sade, has absolutely 
been found circulating in a respec- 
table female boarding-school in this 
city !" The extent of this devilish 
influence maybe estimated from the 
fact, that scores of respectable 
names, men, women, and youths of 
both sexes are to be found on the 
subscription list. This damning 
journal is not confined to New York 
or the North. It has found its way 
to us. Again we say beware ; turn 
from it as from the touch of pollu- 
tion : it has a foscuration deadlier 
than the basilisk and breathes the 
atmosphere of hell. 

College Items are scarce. There 
are more students here now, than 
have ever been at any one time be- 
fore. We are glad to state that at 
length, arrangements and brick are 
both making for the accommoda- 
tion of a still greater number. The 
fund of thirty thousand dollars, we 
may expect soon to appear in the 
form of a first-rate college building. 

While rumaging about the other 
day, in the University library, we 



found a paper, which will, at least, 
be interesting to antiquarians. It 
was mouldy and dilapidated, and 
the third figure in the date was com- 
pletely erased. It was 18-8, wheth- 
er 28, 38, 48, or what, could not be 
told. It reads as follows : 

Oh ! sacred Peace thy triumph ceased awhile, 
And sleep no more could weary cares beguile, 
When the leagued classes poured from college doors, 
Their Freshman fierce and whiskered Sophomores, 
Raised their loud yells upon the breeze of night, 
And pealed the booming bell with furious might ; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er the van, 
Presaging wrath to Bidbbul and to Bam. 
The faithful watchman from his height surveyed 
A plan to catch his jolly comrades laid, — 
•■ Oh ! Heaven," he cries, " the faculty are out, 
Hun for your lives, I hear old Thi gar's shout: 
Yet, though professors send lis from the hill, 
Rise, fellow-friends ! we have our liquor still 1 
By that dread name we raise the bottle high, 
And swear for it to live — with it to die." 
He said, when at the Belfry heights, arrayed 
Professors trusty, few but undismayed ! 
Bent-legged and slow, they move along the level ; 

Sill as the breeze, but ugly as the d 1. 

Low murmuring sounds along their ranks now fly, 
Let's catch the rogue, the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed them notes omnipotent to charm. 
And Cxsars tin horn told its last alarm ! 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 

From tree to tree in scattered ranks ye flew ; — 

Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 

The bell ringer's locked up without a crime ; 

Found, for a while, no generous friend, no pittying 

Strength Id his arms, nor mercy in his woe ! 
Dropped from his nerveless grasp the tightened rope, 
And kicked the vindow blinds with mighty stroko ! 
Fun for a seaabn bade the crowd farewell, 
And Friendship shrieked the mournful news to tell !- 
The morn rose high, nor ceased the Wse v there, 
Tumultous turmoil shook the midnight air — 
On South's long passages the crackers glow, 
And logs heat at the Belfry door below ; 
The storm prevails, the ramparts yield away, 
Bursts the wild cry Thersites can't allay ; 
Hark ! as the battered piles with thunder fall> 
The loud hurrahs resound from wall to wall, 
The campus shook — red brick-bats flashed along the 

And fearful Acres shuddered at the cry I 

Our College Exchanges.— Where 
are they ? Only the Williams Quar- 
terly, Geo. Univ. Mag., and George- 
town Magazine have been received. 

Mr. Everett may be expected 
here, to deliver his address on the 
life and character of Washington, 
sometime during the fall. 




1 . Na thaniel Macon and Bartl ett Yan cey , 89 

2. The Oldest Bible in North Carolina, 100 

3 . A Visit jto Alexandei Von Humbolt, 100 

4. A Story about a Miniature, 108 

5. Correspondence, . 115 

|S. " Aurora Leigh," 118 

7. Conservatism of the South,.,.. 121 

8. "Young America" in College, 124 

#. To Nannie Grey, (Poetry.) 125 

10. The Opean, ' ' " 126 

Editorial Table. — About Text Books — Hume 
and Amber.crombie — Way land on Slavery — 
A Poem with remarks thereon — Beverie of a 
Senior-To Contributors-Beware the Serpent-- 
College Items— Our Exchanges— Mr. Everett, 127 

The Magazine is published about the tenth of every 
month except January aud July. 

Terms $2 per annum, invariably in Advance. Any 
person sending us five new subscribers and ten dollars, 
will receive a copy gratis. 

Address Editors of the TJniversitv Magazine, Chapel 
Hill, K C, ," '"',.' 



[flfomfot, 1857. 

i 1 






W. C. LORD, 

E. S. BELL, 


NOVEMBER, 1857. 

NO. 4 


In writing a memoir of Gov. Cas- 
well, the question stated above must 
of course be raised, and, if possi- 
ble, answered. The writer of such 
a memoir would be unfaithful to 
his duty, should he omit to throw 
upon that question all the light he 
;can gather. He would be more 
than unfaithful, should he withhold 
the answer to which the evidence 
compels him ; or should he in ai.y 
degree modify, or forbear fully to ex- 
press his convictions through any 
fear or favor of the living or the 
dead. It was under the control of 
such views and feelings, that I at 
[ tempted, in my lecture of Gov 

Caswell, to state the arguments and 
the result to which they led me 
upon the question touching the lead- 
ership at the battle of Moore's 
Creek. I endeavored simply to do 
justice. My position was that of a 
judge, in a matter of historical crit- 
icism and evidence. I had no in- 
terest in concealing or exaggerating 
the truth. I do not so revere the 
memory of Caswell as to claim for 
him an iota which I am not sure he 
deserved. I had no motive to un- 
derrate the gallantry of Lillington. 
I belonged to no party, had taken 
no side, had no prepossession. I 
decided in strict accordance wit^ 



what seemed to me the weight and 
pressure of the evidence. I claim 
no more than to have been impar- 
tial, and that I do claim ; and when 
any man charges me with a desire 
to deprive Gen. Lillington of the 
place he occupied, I can only say, 
that no one who knows me would 
make such a charge, and that no 
one to whom I am a stranger ought 
to have made it. 

In the lecture, which has been 
referred to, only the more promi- 
nent points of evidence were pre- 
sented. They seemed to me suffi- 
cient. They satisfy me now. Yet 
there are other witnesses also, whom 
I purpose now to bring forward, 
and at the same time to repeat more 
clearly and strongly, if may be, the 
proofs offered before. The whole 
forms an array of proof, which may 
be offered for few alledged facts of 
that day, and which, it seems to 
me, ought to set this question at 
rest forever. 

Before entering on the discussion 
of the evidence, let me say that the 
question is not which of the two 
Colonels was the most skilful sol- 
dier, or the most gallant man, nor 
even which contributed the most to 
win the victory of that day. Which- 
soever way it is decided, no impu- 
tation rests on the fair fame of ei- 
ther. The question is almost a 
technical one, who was Chief in 
command ? Or, as it ma}^ very fair- 
ly be stated, who was judged the j 

Chief by the men of their own day ? 
— men who were in the battle — men 
who knew all the circumstances 
connected with it, and many of 
whom were placed in a position in 
which they were compelled quasi- 
judicially to decide this very ques- 
tion. If we find their voices, a* 
the voice of one man, without pro- 
test, or denial, or doubt, or hesita- 
tion, assigning the foremost place 
to one, and no man among them 
putting forth a claim even for the 
other, are we not authorized to be- 
lieve, and say, that the chief com- 
mand did in fact belong to him ?-§■ 
And ought not this unanimous con- 
sent of such and so many witnesses 
to be held of higher worth than a 
local and temporary tradition ? — 
Such I affirm to be the fact in this 
case — that all the original witnesses 
are on one side, and that the side 
of Caswell — that every historian 
who has touched upon this actioi: 
for the first fifty years after it tool* 
place, bears the same testimony 

Among the original witnesses ou 
first appeal is naturally to Colone 
Jam«s Moore. Colonel Moore wa 
a Cape Fear man, a neighbor am 
friend of Colonel Lillington, and 
he were capable of any bias, 
would, most likely, be prejudice 
in his favor. Between the region 
of the Cape Fear and of the Ner, s 
there was even then some measur 
of political rivalry and jealousy 
.and Colonel Moore would not b 



like to have any pi*edilection for 
Colonel Caswell. Colonel Moore 
was chief in command of all the 
Provincial forces in arms along the 
Cape Fear in February, 1776. He 
was the official superior of both 
Caswell and Lillington. He was 
on the ground where the battle was 
fought, a few hours only after, the 
victory was won. Surely he must 
have known to whom the honours 
of that day were due, and the inti- 
mations of his judgment on that 
point might well be esteemed deci- 
sive of our question. 

The whole of Colonel Moore's tes- 

t timony, which bas come down to us, 

i is contained in three letters, which 

are of an official, or semi-official 

character,"and clearly, though inci- 

' dentally — for our question could 

; not have been a question to him, 

and needed, therefore, no formal 

decision — expressing his opinion on 

.' this subject. The longest of them 

is his official report of the action, 

and the events which preceded and 

f accompanied it, made to Cornelius 

j" Harnett, the President of the Pro- 

r vincial Council, on the second of 

March, 1776. In this report, he 

I speaks of the " attack on Col. Cas- 

r well and Col. Lillington," placing 

f Caswell's name first, where that of 

the commanding officer certainly 

should be. Beyond the intimation 

contained in this arrangement of 

•the names — which yet is plain 

enough — there seems to me to be 

nothing in it bearing on the point 
now before us. (*) 

The other two letters have never 
been printed before, and are, there- 
fore, given entire. 

Camp at Moore's Creek, ) 
February 28th, 1776. j 
Sir :— 1 have thought proper to 
send down Mr. Farquar Cambel to 
be examined by your Committee. 
He has been accused of aiding and 
abetting the Torys in their late 
schemes, and was carried prisoner 
10 Col. Caswell's Camp ; he is now 
fallen into my hands and I send 
him to you to deal with as you 
think proper. A Daniel Williams, 
of Duplin, who was a prisoner a- 
mong the Torys, says that he heard 
Capttain McCloud, say, that they 
intended to go to the Governor by 
the way of Bockfish ; but that Mr. 
F. Cambel advised them to take the 
route that they have done, and that 
in a few hours, by his means they 
could have notice of any thing that 
was ti-ansacted in our camp. 

I am, sir, 

Your very hum' e serv't, 
To the Chairman of the Committee 
of Wilmington. 

! '} 

Moore's Creek Bridge, 
28th Feb'y, 1776. 
Dear Sir : Between the hours of 
5 and 6 o'clock on yesterday morn- 
ing the Tories, led by McLeod, 
passed the widow Moore's Creek 
bridge, of which the boards were 
taken off. They were highlan- 
ders and advanced with intrepidity 
to attack Col. Caswell who was in- 
trenchedon an advantageous ground. 
They began the fire which was not 

(1) Rev. Hist, of N. C, pp. 218-20, whore the bt.tex 
is given entire in the anpenuix to Gov. Swu.u'd Lculur 


returned till they were within a 
short distance of our breast-work 
when a pretty warm action ensued : 
betAveen twenty and thirty of the 
Tories were killed, and I suppose a 
Considerable number wounded. No 
more than four, however, have fallen 
into my hands — one is since dead. 
McLeod was among the first to fall 
— he was a brave soldier and would 
have done honor to a good cause^ 1 ) 

A Capt. Campbell, of Anson, is 
also dead. I have sent out scouts 
with orders to discover their rout 
and to take into possession all the 
useful articles that may be thrown 
away by the enemy. 

I am your humble serv't, 


P. S. — We learn that this small 
defeat has introduced much confu- 
sion in the Tory Camp, and the 
greatest part of their army are dis- 
persed. Not one of our men were 
Killed, three are wounded, one mor- 
tally, the others very slightly. Have 
Lockwood's folly bridge guarded, 
and all the passes wdicre it may be 
practical for the Tory Chief to es- 
cape to the men of war. Shew this 
to the Committee. 

It is very noticeable that in these 
three letters Colonel Lillington is 
mentioned only once, and that in a 
way to denote inferiority ; that in 
two ot them, one of them his ear- 
liest official, account of the battle, 
and both written the day after the 
battle, and on the field of the bat- 
tle, both intended for the Wil- 
mington Committee — to whom he 
would gladly have spoken the praises 
of Colonel Lillington, had that of- 

tlj 1 hardly need to say this is an exact Ropy of the 
riginal, now before mo, preserved among Hie papers 
of Archibald JIcLainc by A. M, Hooper. 

ficer held a position of pre-eminence 
— no allusion whatever is made to 
him ; while he declares the camp 
they both occupied to be " Colonel 
Caswell's Camp," and that the "at- 
tack" that was made, was " made 
on Colonel Caswell. Is it credible, 
that Colonel Moore could have writ- 
ten as he did, had Colonel Lillington 
been the chief in command that day? 
That he could have so utterly dis- 
regarded the requirements of mili- 
tary etiquette, not to say of com- 
mon justice ? Not a word is said 
by him, nor a hint given that Col. 
Lillington was the superior— 'and 
yet heAvould certainly have claimed 
that, had it been true — while he 
clearly points to Colonel Caswell as 
the leader and "the leading spirit" 
in the action and the victory — as re- 
ceiving the attack, and as the mas- 
ter of the camp. One who reads 
these letters carefully can hardly 
remain in doubt who, in Colonel 
Moore's judgment, was best entitled 
to " the honors of the day," 

We have heard the testimony of 
the commander-iu-chief of the Amer- 
ican forces engaged in the battle. 
Let us now hear the commander oi 
the enemy. The Highlanders were le< 
by Brig. General Donald McDonald. 
No one can doubt that he knew 
who commanded the troops bj 
whom he was defeated, or imagine 
that he could have had aijy induce' 
ment to mis-state the fact: and i 
we find that he no where alludes t( 


Lillington, but speaks of Caswell, 
as he could have spoken of no one 
but his victor, there can hardly be 
any further question — his witness 
alone should be enough — who was 
the superior in command at Moore's 

We have two letters of General 
McDonald bearing on this question, 
and furnishinga testimony the more 
valuable because it is incidental. — 
The first was a " report " or state- 
ment made " to the President and 
members of the Continental Congress 
at Philadelphia, May 29th, 1776." 
As the report is one of some inter- 
est in reference to the temper and 
doings of those times, we copy it 
entire.( x ) 

" That he was, by a party of 
horsemen, upon the 28th day of 
February last, taken prisoner from 
sick quarters, eight miles from 
Widow Moore's Creek, where he 
was dangerously ill, and carried to 
Colonel Caswell's camp, where Gen. 
Moore then commanded, to whom 
he delivered his sword as prisoner 
of war, which General Moore was 
pleased to deliver back in a genteel 
manner before all his officers then 
present, according to the rules and 
customs of war practised in all na- 
tions; assuring him at the same time 
that he should be well treated, and 
his baggage and property delivered 
to him, &c. Having taken leave of 
General Moore and Colonel Caswell, 
Lieutenant-Colonel Bryant (Bryan) 
took him under his care j and after 
rummaging his baggage for papers, 
&c., conducted him to Newbern, 

(1) American Archives, Fourth Series, Vol. VI, pp. 
013-14, 1776. 

from thence with his baggage to 
Halifax, where the Committee of 
Safety there thought proper to com- 
mit him to the common jail ; his! 
horses, saddles, and pistols, &c, 
taken from him, and never having 
committed any act ofviolence against 
the person or property of any man; 
that he remained in this jail near a 
month, until General Howe arrived 
there, who did him the honor to call 
upon him in jail, and that he has 
reason to think that General Howe 
thought this treatment enormous 
and without a precedent ; that upon 
this representation to the Conven- 
tion, General McDonald was, by or- 
der of the Convention, permitted, 
upon parole, to the limits of the 
town of Halifax, until the 25th of 
April last, when he was appointed 
to march, with the other gentlemen 
prisoners, escorted from the jail 
there to this place. General Mc- 
Donald would wish to know what 
crime he has since been guilty of, 
deserving his being re-committed 
to the jail of Philadelphia without 
his bedding or baggage, and his 
sword and servant detained from 

The other gentlemen prisoners 
are in great want for their blankets 
and other necessaries. 


It will be o bserved th at in this paper 
no mention is made of Colonel Lil- 
lington — a very singular omission, 
if he commanded the troops by 
whom McDonald was captured. — • 
The camp to which the captive Gen- 
eral was taken is called "Colonel 
Caswell's camp." Had Colonel Lil- 
lington been the chief in command 
in that action, surely one who un- 
derstood the proprieties that regu 



late such matters so well as General 
McDonald, would have called it 
Colonel Lillington's camp. I do not 
see how the conclusion can be avoid- 
ed, that General McDonald under- 
stood Colonel Caswell to have been 
the commander there, until the ar- 
rival of Colonel Moore. And if he 
so understood it, such must have 
been the fact. I may add that there 
is no evidence, and no reason to sup- 
pose — indeed the presumption is all 
the other way — that up to this time, 
Colonels Caswell and Lillington oc- 
cupied separate camps. So that the 
quarters in which Colonel Lilling- 
ton's men were stationed was called 
" Colonel Caswell's camp." But if 
it could be shown that they were 
encamped in different places, then 
the superiority of Colonel Caswell 
would follow from the fact that Col. 
Moore made his camp his own head- 
quarters, and that the captured 
chief of the insurgents was brought 
and kept there. 

The second statement of General 
McDonald is in a letter " to the 
Board of War." The first para- 
graph of it, relating to hi? exchange, 
just agreed on, is omitted, as not 
bearing on our question. We give 

the rest entire^ 1 ) 

Philadelphia Jail, V 
September 6, 1776. j 
To the Secretary of War : 

* * General McDonald begs 
leave to acquaint the Secretary of 

n,p P 

(1) American Archives, Fifth Series, Vol. 
191-2, 1776. 

the Board of War, for the informa- 
tion of Congress, that when he was 
brought prisoner from sick quarters 
to General Moore's camp, at Moore's 
Ci*eek, upon the 28th of February 
last, General Moore treated him 
with great politeness, and told him 
that he should be treated with res- 
pect to hi j rank and commission in 
the King of Great Britian's service. 
He would give him a parole to re- 
turn to his sick quarters, as his low 
state of health required it much at 
that time ; but Colonel Casivell ob- 
jected thereto, and had him conduc- 
ted prisoner to Newbern, but gent- 
ly treated all the way by Colonel 
Caswell and his officers. 

From Newbern he was conducted 
by a guard of Horse to Halifax, and 
committed on his arrival, after for- 
ty-five miles journey the last day, 
in a sickly state of health, and im- 
mediately ushered into a common 
gaol, without bed or bedding, fire 
or candles, in a cold, long night by 
Colonel Long, who did not appear 
to me to behave like a gentleman 
That notwithstanding the promisee 
protection for person or property 
he had from General Moore, a man 
called Longfield Cox, a wagon-mas 
ter to Colonel Caswell's army, seiz 
ed upon his horse, saddle, pistols 
and other arms, and violently de- 
tained the same by refusing to de- 
liver them up to Colonel Bryan, who 
conducted him to Newbern. Col. 
Long was pleased to detain his mare, 
at Halifax, when sent prisoner from 
thence to here. Sorry to dwell so 
long upon so disagreeable a subject. 

It will be observed here also, that 
no mention is made of Colonel Lil- 
lington : an omission made doubly 
significant for our purpose, by the 
] repetition, which shows that the 


omission was not the result of ac- 
cident or oversight. But this re- 
port contains stronger proof than 
the former, even ; for we find here 
that Colonel Caswell claimed the 
right to control and dispose of the 
prisoner. General McDonald then 
was his prisoner. And this claim 
he could assert and maintain on no 
conceivable ground, except that 
which implies his own leadership 
in the action. Nor was Colonel 
Moore the man to give up his own 
opinion and choice in such a matter 
unless to a right, clear, as well as 
asserted ; neither can we imagine 
that he would yield to a claim of 
Caswell, when the right was in 

We have, then, these facts that 
the General in command of the in- 
surgents, who was defeated and 
made captive at Moore's Creek, does 
not speak of Colonel Lillington at 
all, in his accounts of that action 
and its consequences; that he speaks 
of Colonel Caswell only, as the one 
to whose camp he was carried pris- 
oner, and of him only, as the one 
who had the right of custody over 
him, and the control of his move- 
ments, till his destination should be 
decided by the highest political au- 
thority in the Province. And how 
are these facts consistent with the 
allegation that all the while Colonel 
Lillington was the chief, and Cas- 
well a subordinate ? If that alle- 
gation were true, Caswell was the 

most impudent of men; and Lilling- 
ton, to say the least of him, unfor- 
tunate in an excessive modesty and 
too weak or too careless to insist on 
justice being done between his infe- 
riors ; and McDonald, the old and 
experienced soldier, now unhappily 
a prisoner of war, did not know, or 
would not tell, who defeated him 
and whose captive he really was ! 
The statements of McDonald can 
be reconciled with no other suppo- 
sition, than that Colonel Caswell 
commanded at Moore's Creek. — 
Then all is plain, and McDonald de- 
clares intelligibly, as well as truly, 
that he was carried to Colonel Cas- 
well's camp, and that Colonel Cas- 
well claimed and exercised over him 
the rights of a captor^ 1 ) 

We have heard the testimony of 
the commander-in-chief of the Amer- 
ican forces, and of the General of 
the British forces. Neither of them, 
although, in a position to know most 
perfectly all the facts, was present 
in the engagement. Let us now 
appeal to one who was in the bat- 
tle, and who held such a post there 
as to make him every way the mas- 

(1) This claim, it -will be remembered, waa also as- 
serted by Colonel Caswell in his official report of the 
battle, made to the Provincial Council, Feb. 29th. His 
words are "There (i. e. to Newberne,) I intend cocrry- 
ing the General. If the Council should rise before my 
arrival, be pleased to give order in what manner ho 
shall be disposed of." At least he made an open as- 
sertion of what he thought his rights. Had he been 
wrong Harnett should have reproved him, instead of 
allowing Gen. McDonald to remain in his custody. — 
See Rev. Hist, of N. C, p. 221. 



ter of this question. Our next wit- 
ness is Col. John Ashe. He had 
raised a company of volunteers, 
marched with Colonel Lillington to 
Moore's Creek bridge, and stood 
there in the fight at the head of 
about one hundred men. Certainly 
he knew who his leader was. He 
was a New Hanover man also, and 
can not be suspected of a willing- 
ness to transfer to Caswell any 
merit that could be justly claimed 
for Lillington. I may join with 
him Cornelius Harnett, who, though 
not in the action, was the President 
of the Provincial Council, i. e. the 
acting Governor of North Carolina, 
and to whom, as such, the military 
oflicers, both Caswell and Moore, 
made their reports. Can we doubt 
that he knew who was chief in com- 
mand that day ? Or can we imag- 
ine that he, a New Hanover man 
also, would have joined any conspi- 
racy, or favored any effort to de- 
prive Lillington of his just meed of 
praise? Yet, both these men ex- 
pressed their judgment on this ques- 
tion by a solemn, public, official 
act, when in the Provincial Con- 
gress at Halifaxin April, 1776, some 
six weeks only after the battle, they 
gave the sanction of their voice, or 
the no less unequivocal sanction of 
their silence, when the Congress 
passed its vote of thanks to Col. 

If the letters of Colonel Moore 
are not conclusive, what can be said 

against this deliberate testimony of 
so many men as composed that , 
Congress — men who had the best 
opportunities to know the truth, 
and every earthly inducement to 
tell nothing but the truth ? Their 
object in this vote was, by a public 
expression of the public approval, 
to reward the merit of those who 
achieved the victory at Moore's 
Creek ; and is it possible that their 
thanks could have been given to 
Caswell, had they been earned and 
deserved by Lillington ? The Ees- 
olution is in these words :(') 

"Resolved, That the thanks of 
this Congress be given to Col. Eich- 
ard Caswell and the brave officers 
and soldiers under his command, 
for the essential service by them 
rendered this country at the battle 
of Moore's Creek." 

In compliance with this resolve, 
which was passed on the 12th, on 
the 15th day of April, ( 2 ) thanks 
were openly rendered by the Pres- 
ident of the Congress, Samuel John^ 

This Eesolution is the only ex- 
pression of thanks ever rendered 
by public authority in this Province 
to the officers and soldiers engaged 
at Moore's Creek. Why is Colonel 
Caswell the only officer named in 
it ? Why is no mention of Colonel 
Lillington? Why are the only 
words of grateful acknowledgement 

(1) Journal of the Provincial Congress of North 
Carolina, held at Halifax, April 4th, 1776, p. 12, of the 
reprint of 1831. 

(2) lb. p. 14. 



addressed to Caswell and none to 
Lillington ? The natural answer 
is that in such cases the name of the 
commander only is mentioned, — 
such is the custom. And all his infe- 
riors receive their share of the gen- 
eral commendation through him. 
In accordance with this custom, on 
the 4th of March, 1776, the Provin- 
cial Council had rendered their 
u thanks to Col. James Moore, and 
all the brave officers and soldiers," 
who were engaged in "suppressing 
the insurrection of the Highlanders 
and Eegulators. " Caswell, Lil- 
lington, Martin, Thackston, Ashe, 
Purviance, and the rest were entit- 
led to appropriate, each his share. 
But the form of the Eesolve shows 
that " Colonel James Moore " was 
superior, officially, to them all. In 
like manner, the form of the later 
Resolve of the Congress proves that 
Colonel Caswell was, in their judg- 
ment, the commanding officer at 
Moore's Creek. The language of 
the Eesolution admits no other in- 
terpretation. As well might we, 
in the face of the Eesolve of the 
4th of March, set up a claim that 
Martin, or Purviance commanded 
all the troops that quelled the in- 
surrection, as maintain that Lil- 
lington led at Moore's Creek. Such 
an explanation simply stultifies the 
Congress. It implies either that 
they did not know who commanded 
there, or that, under some sinister 
and malignant influence, they con- 
sented to proclaim a falsehood. 

The plain language of the Eeso- 
lution of thanks, in which, as if to 
avoid all doubt, the customary 
phraseology is used, points clearly 
to Colonel Caswell as the comman- 
der at Moore's Creek. The omis- 
sion of t!ie Congress to mention 
Colonel Lillington in this Eesolu- 
tion, or in any other, as clearly 
shows their judgment in respect to 
him. Did the Congress not know 
who commanded ? Col. John Ashe 
was in the Congress, and had been 
in the fight. Harnett, of Wilming- 
ton, was also a member. The New 
Hanover delegates were there. — 
They all knew who commanded. — 
The intelligent and influential men 
from every cmarter of the Province 
were there. The defeat of the 
Highlanders at Moore's Creek was 
the great event of the day. The 
valor of the troops, the skill of the 
leaders, were on every man's lips 
everywhere. Were the men who 
composed that Congress uncertain 
who was the chief in command? — 
Their vote of thanks indicates no 
ignorance, no uncertainty. If Col. 
Lillington had been truly the lead- 
er, would the New Hanover delega- 
tion have voted for the Eesolution 
of thanks to Colonel Caswell ? — 
Would Cornelius Harnett have stood 
by in silence, while his friend and 
neighbor was thus defrauded of his 
hard earned honors ? Would John 
Ashe have seen his own Captain's 
laurels thus transferred to a stran- 



ger,with no indignant remonstrance, 
without some protest, entered of 
record, as well as boldly spoken ? 
Would Caswell have accepted an ac- 
knowledgement, which, in the very 
form of it, conveyed a double false- 
hood — false to himself and false to 
Lillington — and which he must have 
been aware all men would know to 
be falsehood ? 

But if the Congress knew who 
the leader was, were they un- 
der any influence that could in- 
duce them to suppress or misrepre- 
sent the truth ? The very question 
contains its own refutation. Who 
dares to charge, or insinuate, that 
that noble company of patriots 
could, under any circumstances, 
lend the weight of their authority 
to what they knew to be misrepre- 
sentation ? Who can hear, without 
some measure of indignation, the 
suggestion even, that such men as 
Ashe and Harnett would, under any 
influences, allow this to be done 
without a desperate battle for the 
right ? That Samuel Johnston 
could have been wrought upon by 
any earthly consideration to forget 
his integrity, and, standing in his 
place as President of the Congress, 
pronounce that the thanks of the 
country were due to Caswell, when 
he knew they were due to Lil- 
lington ? 

Beyond the fact that, that body 
of wise and good men could not be 
seduced from the truth, or made to 

swerve from their allegiance to jus- 
tice, beyond the intrinsic unlikeli- 
hood that they could be corrupted — 
we can find no reason why they 
should not, and every reason why 
they should have declared the sim- 
ple truth. The object of their 
Resolution was to declare the 
gratitude of the country for a vic- 
tory achieved, and by this act, to 
reward, in some measure, the brave 
men who had done so good service, 
and at the same time to confirm 
them in their military allegiance 
and patriotic devotion. It was de- 
signed to be at once a reward for 
the past, and an encouragement for 
the future. It would have been an 
absurdity, then, an insane defeating 
of their own purpose, to have ascrib- 
ed the merit of the action to one 
who had not won it, and leave the 
true victor unnoticed. 

The later action of the same Con- 
gress in the selection of Brig. Gen- 
erals, shows that their opinion on 
our question was a deliberate one, 
and one they could afford to abide 
by. They raised Colonel Caswell to 
the Brigadier-Generalship in his dis- 
trict ; and in Colonel Lillington's 
district theypromoted — not Colonel 
Lillington — but Colonel John Ashe. 
They wished to create a permanent 
and efficient military organization, 
and any one can judge what would 
have been the effect on the temper 
of both citizens and soldiers, had 
the Congress shown so little regard 


to brave and skilful soldiership, as 
to overlook the claims of the com- 
mander in the so recent victory. — 
They could have done nothing else 
so sure to dishearten their officers, 
and alienate the soldiers from their 
cause, as so gross a partiality. — 
"With what face, I may add, could 
Colonel Lillington himself have 
continued in the service after a two- 
fold affront, than which none could 
more deeply wound the honor of a 
sensitive soldier — the ascribing, in 
a public act of recognition, to one 
subordinate all the merit which he 
as the superior was entitled to, and 
when the hour of promotion came, 
the putting another subordinate 
over his head ? Who imagines that 
Col. Ashe would have accepted the 
promotion offered him, implying, 
as it did, so open hishonor and det- 
riment to his late commander ? — 
And yet, so far as the records of the 
times give any evidence, no one re- 
monstrated, no one doubted even ; 
but all things went on smoothly, 
and every body, in the army and 
out of it, seems to have acquiesced 
in the action of the Congress, as 
the most proper thing that could 
have been done. 

Among the original witnesses, we 
' are allowed to count Col. Lillington 
himself. Had Col. Caswell indeed 
thus defrauded him of his laurels, 
or, at the least, consented to receive 
an honor which was due to himself 
alone, we can hardly suppose that 

relations of mutual respect and kind- 
ness would have continued to exist 
between them. On the other hand, 
if we find that, after all this, there 
was no rupture, no umbrage, but 
on the part of Colonel Lillington 
continued deference and confidence, 
we may fairly conclude, that in the 
proceedings of the Congress no 
injustice was done. The evidence 
of this friendly feeling between 
them we have under Col. Liiling- 
ton's own hand. In the fall of 1779, 
Caswell, then Governor of the State 
of North Carolina, requested Lil- 
lington, then raised to the rank of 
Brig. General, to take command 
of the troops of this State, then 
about to be sent under Gen. Ashe, 
to the aid of the States lying south 
of us. The following ( J ) is the 
first paragraph of Gen. Lillington's 
reply : 

Nov. 12th, 1779. 
Please Your Excellency : 

Sib: I received your favor per Express, and with 
respect to my going out with the Troops now ordered 
to the aid of the Southern States, I shall, agreeably 
to your orders, take the command ; but could freely 
wish that is suited your Excellency to have taken 
the command. I should have waited on you, sir, with 
much more pleasure." 

With much more pleasure than un - 
der whom ? — Lincoln or Ashe ? 

I am tempted to include among 
the original witnesses colonel after- 
wards governor, Alexander Martin. 
For though his testimony does not 
refer specifically to Moore's Creek, 
it does bear strongly on the worth 
of his character as a soldier and a 

(1) Caswell's T jtter Book. 



commander. Colonel Martin com- 
manded a large force, near Fayette- 
ville, When the battle was fought, 
and was familiar, of course, with 
every thing connected with it. The 
readers of this Magazine will re- 
member the verses written by him 
" On the death of Gov. Caswell," 
which were printed in the No. for 
March, 1855. ( J ) As the witness of 
a fellow-soldier, and published at 
the time, they are not without in- 
terest even for our purpose. 

We have the testimony of anoth- 
er who was present at the engage- 
ment, Hugh McDonald, then a boy 
of fourteen years, who accompanied 
the army of the insurgents, and 
who in his later years wrote the 
reminiscences of his revolutionary 
adventures for his descendants. — 
Though in an humbler position he 
is as competent a witness as Gen. 
McDonald and Col. Moore, and his 
evidence closely corresponds with 
theirs. In describing the march of 
the Highlanders he says " we got 
near to Moore's Creek, within eigh- 
teen miles of Wilmington, at which 
creek lay entrenched Richard Cas- 
well, late Governor of North Caro- 
lina, with a body of American sol- 
diers, who, after night, uncovered 
the bridge and greased the sleepers 
with soft soap and tallow." The 
most of McDonald' snarative, which 
is written with much candor and 
simplicity, has been printed in this 

(l) Vol. IV, p. 7L 

magazine. ■ The sentence quoted 
above may be found in Caruther's 
" Old North State," p-. 35. Here 
too, the' command is assigned to 
Caswell, and the direction of the 
mode of resistance. He could hard- 
ly have forgotten that fact, had 
Lillington held the first place. 

Let us now turn to the Historians, 
who have referred to Moore's Creek. 
As in the case of the original wit- 
nesses, so here also, we find not one 
referring to Col. Lillington as the 
commander in that action, the most 
of them not even mentioning his 
name, and the few, who couple the 
two, putting him in the order which 
implies inferiority; while all of them 
directly and plainly point to Col. 
Caswell as the leader and the lead- 
ing spirit there. 

The earliest, sketch of the action 
at Moore's Creek, that I am aware 
of, is in the Annual Register for 
1776, the year of the battle. It is 
there referred to in these words :(') 
" McDonald at length found himself 
under a necessity of engaging a 
Col. Caswell, who, with about a 
thousand militia and minute men, 
had taken possession of a place 
called Moore's Creek Bridge, &c," 
This statement, which must have 
been derived immediately from par- 
ties intimately connected with the 
event, certainly names Col. Caswell 
as the leader. Colonel Lillington 

(1) Annual Register for 1776, p. 157. The sentence 
quoted above ii all that bears upon our subject. 


is not even named. Mr. Burke, 
under whose direction the Annual 
Register was prepared for the press, 
can not be suspected of partiality, 
or misinformation. 

The next account, of which I 
have any knowledge, is that of 
Stedman whose work was published 
in Eondon in 1794. He was engag- 
ed in the war in America, where he 
served under Conwallis. He must 
have had access to the most certain 
sources of information. I suppose 
him, in fact, to have been associat- 
ed with the actors in the battle, with 
Martin, then Governor, &c, and so 
peculiarly competent to testify in 
this case. At any rate the minute- 
ness of his narrative of this action 
shows that his intelligence was not 
at second hand, and that he is es- 
pecially to be relied on here, while 
we know that in general his work 
is of the very highest authority. — 
His sketch of the battle is given 
entire, because it differs from the 
common impresssions about that 
event, and is much more likely to 
be accurate :( J ) 

"In the meantime, the embodying of the loyalists 
had spread abroad through the Province, and as soon 
as Colonel Moore's party had marched from Wilming- 
ton, a Colonel Caswell, who commanded one of the 
continental regiments in the neighborhood of New- 
beril, collected about four or five huudren men, and 
■with one two-pounder and two swivels marched to the 
north-west of Cape Fear, to act as occasion might re- 
quire. Colonel Caswell, who was a sen«ible, discern- 
ing man, and was reckoned one of the best woodsmen 

(l)Hist. of the American war. by Stedman, Vol. I, 
pp. 181-2. Compare with Stedman's any of the mod- 
ern accounts. The latest 1 have seen is in the Life of 
Judge Iredell, (Vol. 1, pp. 271-2.) a work of great 
value and merit ; but hardly accurate in regard to 
Caswell's share in this action. 

in the province, readily foresaw that, if an engage- 
ment had taken place between the loyalists and rebel 
party on the north-west side of Cap© Pear, that their 
route would be by the Black River Road ; and for that 
purpose he morched to the road leading to Negro- 
Head Poiut, and crossed Moore's Creek, which is about 
twelve miles from thence. 

'■ In order to arrest the progress if the loyalists, at 
the same time, Colonel Moore, finding that the loyal- 
ists had taken the other side of the river, returned 
with his troops the same way we went up, and cross- 
ing at the lower ferries, on the north-west, effected a 
junction with Colonel Caswell, who was at that time 
encamped on the north side of Moore's Creek bridge. 
The loyalists had preceded without interruption with- 
in half a mile of the rebel camp ; ano the night before 
they intended to attack it, they sent a flag of truce, 
by way of getting intelligence of their situation, and 
which was nearly as hazardous a one as that in which 
Col. Moore had placed himself at Rock Fish ; but the 
insecurity of their position did not escape the vigi- 
lence of Caswell ; for as soon as night came on, he 
lighted up all the fires, which he left burning, in order 
to deceive the loyalists, retreated over Moore's Creek, 
took the planks off the bridge, and greased the sleep- 
ers, which are only passable by one man at a time, 
and placed his men about fifty yards from the banks 
of the Creek, behind trees, and such little intrench- 
nients as in the course of the night they were able to 
throw up. 

'• The loyalists, on the other hand, flushed with the 
accounts that their flag of truce brought them, deter- 
mined to attack the rebels in their camp the next 
rooming; and accordingly Colonel McLeod, who com- 
manded the attack, seeing the fires in the rebel camp 
burning, scud nobody there, concluded that the rebels 
had evacuated it through fear, and with about twenty 
two of the Highlanders he got over the bridge, intend- 
ing to attack them sword in hand. But he had no 
sooner reached the top of the bank than he received 
two or three bullets, and almost instantly expired. — 
The remainder of the advanced party were all killed 
and Wounded, except Col. Thomas Rutherford and 
Capt. Fraser, who escaped unhurt. The loyalists, dis- 
mayed at seeing a leader fall in whom they had so 
much confidence, after firing off some of their firelocks 
(which were leveled too high to do any execution,) 
broke and dispersed, every one taking the nearest way 
he could through the woods to his own home. Those 
from the back country were more successful in their 
retreat, as being better woodsmen than the Highlan- 
ders, the leaders of whom were almost all taken, to- 
gether with General McDonald, and sent off under a 
guard to different prisons at the northward. The re- 
bels had one or two slightly wounded; the loyalists, 
about eight killed and fourteen wounded, of whom 
the greater part died. And thus unfortunately ended 



the first enterprise in the Carolinas in support of His 
Majesty's government. 

"Colonel Moore was afterwards a Major-General in 
the rebel service, and Col. Caswell was one of their 
Governors : and both behaved with great levity and 
moderation towards the loyalists while they continued 
in power. The army of the loyalists consisted of about 
eighteen hundred." 

Is it likely that a writer who 
could give so minute and true an 
account of the rebel preparations 
for the action, did not know who 
commanded " the rebels "? And 
surely, whoever else maybe thought 
desirous to deprive Lillington of his 
laurels, Stedman, as well as Burke, 
is above suspicion on that point. — 
And yet he does not even name Col. 
Lillington in connection with the 
battle, while he gives all the credit 
of the victory to Col. Caswell. — 
Who shall doubt that he was right? 

Francois Xavier Martin, the ear- 
liest historian of North Carolina, is 
the next who touches on this en- 
gagement. A few weeks only after 
the death of Gov. Caswell, and so 
hardly more than a dozen years af- 
ter the battle, in a Funeral Ora- 
tio^ 1 ) addressed to a Masonic as- 
sembly, he used this noticeable lan- 
guage : " It was he who headed you 
on the day you broke down the su- 
perior phalanx of Scotch insurgents 
at Moore's Creek ; and thereby pre- 
served the cause of freedom from 
the deadly blow, this reinforcement 

(1) A Funeral Oration on the most Worshipful and 
Honorable Major-General Eichard Caswell, Grand 
Master of the Masons of North Carolina, delivered in 
Christ Church, before St. John's Lodge, No. 2, of New- 
bern, on Sunday the 29 th of November, C789, by 
1'rancois Xavier Martin. . 

would have enabled our enemies to 
strike." So distinct an assertion of 
Caswell's leadership on that day, 
would hardly have been ventured 
at that time and place, where most 
of his hearers must have known the 
truth, had Lillington been chief. 

And Martin affirms the same in 
his history of North Carolina. The 
history was published much later 
indeed, but written before Judge 
Martin left our State ; and the wit- 
ness was one of Caswell's contem- 
poraries. His work is easily acces- 
sible, and I need not quote his ac- 
count of the battle ; but the atten- 
tive reader of it will see that, while 
he speaks of Caswell and Lilling- 
ton as both present there, still what- 
ever he describes as being done, he 
declares was done by Caswell ; so 
that one would naturally infer, in- 
deed there is uo alternative, that, 
though Lillington was there, and 
doubtless active with his command, 
yet Caswell was the directing sjjirit 
that guided the movements and 
brought to pass the results of that 
day's action. 

Among the historians we may in- 
clude Archibald Maclaine Hooper. 
After a careful examination of the 
evidence he felt compelled to say of 
Col. Caswell : " that in his capacity 
of commander-in-chief he directed the 
movements of the army, I have not 
a doubt." 1 

(1) University Magazine for 1853, p. 20S. Though 
he also lies out of my range of fifty years from tlie 
battle, I can not forbear to quote, as entitled to much 
weight, the judgment of Dr. Caruther's on this sub- 
ject. He says "In givjng to Col. Caswell the com- 
mand of the whole and the highest honors of the 
day, I have merely followed the documentary evidence 
and the traditions of the country." Kev. Incidm s 
in the Old North State, Vol. I, p. 123. 


The first Historian who intimat- 
ed even that Lillington, rather than 
Caswell, was in command at Moore's 
Creek, was J. S. Jones, who feebly 
and hesitatingly announces such 
an opinion, in his defence of North 
Carolina, published in 1834— more 
than half a century after the event. 

We must be excused, for the present at least, from 
more than a general reference to the traditions first 
collected by Jones, and afterwards adopted by others. 
Of Jones's precise accuracy in recording these remin- 
iscent ei, a striking and amusing instance is exhibited 
by in a note appended to his life of Gen. Ashe, 
(Ante vol. 3, p. 369.) Of his general accuracy, in re- 
lation to all the incidents connected with the battle, 
the evidence of the late Archibald McLaine Hooper, 
if it stood alone ought to be considered as conclusive, 
(Ante Vol. 2, p. 305-310.) 

Mr. Hooper was born in Wilmington in the year 
1775, was the grand-son and ward of Archibald Mc- 
Laine, the most active member of the Wilmington 
Committee to which Col. Moore's despatches were ad- 
dressed from the battle field. Mr. McLaine's second 
son, with who died shortly thereafter, belonged to 
Colonel Lillington's corps and fought under him. — 
Aside from Mr. Hooper's opportunities to acquire ac- 
curate kuowledge of the leading events of that day 
from long familiar intercourse with his grand father 
during his life and the possession of his manuscripts 
after his death, he is well known tahave spent several 
of the latter years of his life in the compilation of the 
Memoirs of Howe ; and in connection with that work, 
in tracing the history of the most conspicuous fami- 
lies upon the Cape i'ear. He knew Caswell and Lil- 
lington personally, as indicated by articles in the 
Cape Kear .Recorder, which he edited quite thirty- five 
years ago. He was an excellent writer, ardent in his 
feeliugs, but too conscientious to permit partiality for 
his native town, or familiar friends to distort his men- 
tal vision, or give false colouring to his narrative. 

The final embodiment of these traditions exhibited 
in a new guise, but not less questionable shape, may 
be found in the 1'ayetteville Observer of the 3d Sep- 
tember. The ingenious writer B. states that he heard 
Mr. A. say, that Col. A. to d him, that some one* as- 
sured him that " Lillington had fortified the place be- 
fore Caswell arrived on the ground, except uncovering 
the pridge ; that he conducted Caswell over the post, 
and tendered to him the command out of deference to 
the number of hiB men, and his state and national 

*V'r. Hooper and Mr. Wright do not accord as to 
the age of Col. Samuel Ashe, and the former supposes 
him to have been at the North at the time of the bat- 
tle. No one suggests that he was at Moore's Creek, or 
supplies even a conjecture as to the name of his al- 
b-dged informant. It is almost unnecessary to add 
that Col. A.'s patriotism, veracity, and honor is uni 
versaliy admitted. 

To his wavering opinion we owe 
the controversy that has sprung up 
on this question. And surely, we 
may not allow his opinion — rather 
conjecture, for it has much that ap- 
pearance — to outweigh the deliber- 
ate affirmation of Burke, and Sted- 
man and Martin. 

reputation ; but that Caswell promptly and magnani- 
mously deciinod the honor, and remarked that those 
who had so well fortified the position could bravely 
defend it," and upon this crowning evidence Mr. B. 
rests his case and claims a verdict. 

Mr. Jefferson, with no overweening partiality for 
North Carolina statesmen, admits that Caswell " wa 
a good Whig." Mr. Adams speaks of him as a 
" staunch patriot," and on another occasion as " the 
the lion of the South." Even Mr. Jones, (Defence of 
N. C. p. 133,) declares that to no single individual is 
North Carolina mnre indebted — " he not only com- 
manded armies, and planned battles, but fought with 
his own hand ; and it is for this constant devotion and 
sacrifice that his character is cherished as sacred by 
the people of North Carolina. A history of his life 
would be the history of the revolution and of the con- 
stitution, and presents one of the fairest subjects for 
an historical memoir in the annals of the State. 

The General Assembly named a County for him in 
1777 — the two first ships of the naval armament 
equipped by Virginia and North Carolina were the 
Washington and the Caswell. In 1778 at the instance 
of the South Carolina delegation he was requested by 
the Continental Congress to take the command of all 
the troops from North Carolina, in the Southern De- 
partment, with the rank and pay of a Continental 
Major-General. The frequency with which his name, 
like those of Washington and Greene, is found not 
merely in North Carolina, but throughout the South- 
western States, is significant evidence of the strong- 
hold which he had upon the affection of the great body 
of the people. 

Something more direct and authoritative than this 
legend will be required before we discard all record 
evidence, discredit .Moore and McDonald,^Ashe, Har- 
nett, and Johnston,]and finally Lillington himself, re- 
verse the recorded judgment of history, and establish 
the conclusion that Caswell who "promptly and mag- 
nanimously declined the command," on the evening 
of the 26th February, falsely represented himself as 
having held, and as still holding, the command on the 
following day — that he was sustained in the false- 
hood by Col. Moore in duplicate dispatches from the 
field of battle on the 28th— that the official falsehood 
was reiterated by Caswell on the 29th, by Johnston 
"on the 15th of April, iu a Provincial Congre.-s, vari- 
ous members of which were in the battle, and the lie 
stamped and stereotyped on the records of a peope, 
nearly one-third of whose " fighting men," were in 
the field and could by no possibility have been deceived 
in relation to any material fact connected with the 
leading event of the campaign. 



When to this is added the une- 
quivocal testimony of those who 
best knew the fact : of the com- 
mander of the entire American for- 
ces ; of the commander of the In- 
surgent Highlanders; of the Erovin- 
cial congress of North Carolina; and 
of Col. Lillington himself; all speak- 
ing as with one voice, (and with no 
voice among their contemporaries 
against them,) and pointing to Cas- 
well as the Leader and the Leading 
Spirit in that action ; we have an 
amount, clearness, and fullness of 
evidence, which, it seems to me, — 
ought to be conclusive on this ques- 

Though this discussion has grown 
much longer than I designed it to 
be, I am not willing to close, gen- 
tlemen, without saying that the 
false impressions that are abroad on 
this subject are due mainly to a mis- 
understanding of the actual occur- 
rences on the field of battle. They 
seem to me to have originated in 
natural but unsound inferences from 
the fact that Caswell came latest on 
the ground. From this fact it has 
been concluded that the entrench- 
ments were thrown up, and the or- 
der of battle arranged, &c, by Col. 
Lillington, before Col. Caswell ar- 
rived : and hence, also, that a place 
in the rear was assigned to Caswell 
and his men, and that they were 
engaged only in the pursuit. These 
inferences are,allof them, as I think, 
contradicted by the witnesses. In- 

deed, a careful comparison of all 
the evidence within my reach leads 
me to believe that a dangerous po- 
sition on the right bank of the 
creek was at first taken, that the 
position was changed after the ar- 
rival of Caswell ; and that then the 
entrenchments were thrown up, &c. 
&c. Besides, it would be strange 
indeed, if three-fourths, nearly, of 
all the troops were in the reserve, 
and that the artillery, which cer- 
tainly belonged to Caswell, should 
have been in the rear also. Some 
of the later historians are very much 
at variance in their statements with- 
Stedman and Martin. 

Let. me add, that omitting much 
evidence that is collateral, and ma- 
ny aspects of the subject on which 
men may ingeniously argue, I have 
confined myself to the direct evi- 
dence of the Record. In the discus- 
sion of this I have been, perhaps, 
needlessly minute. Yet I felt much 
interest in the question, and was 
anxious to present the case as clear- 
ly and fully as I might. 

I am, gentlemen, 

most truly yours, &c, 

Editors Univ. Magazine 

" I had a vision in my dreams ; 
I saw a row of twenty beans ; 
From every beam a rope was hung, 
In every rope a lover swung. 
I asked the hue of every eye 
That bade each luckless lover die ; 
Ten livid lips said heavenly Wua, 
And ten accused the darker hue." 






There stood a lofty castle on a steep, in days of old, 

Far o'er the land it glistsned, to where the blue sea 

And round it fragrant gardens, in wide circles stretch- 
ed away, 

Where jetted cool fresh fountains, in rainbow-tinted 

[ere lived a haughty earl-king, in might and fame, 


gnllen-hearted and red-handed, he sat upon his throne; 
For what he thought was fearful,he looked a fury -flood, 
And what he spoke was scourges, and what he wrote 

was blood. 

Once journeyed to this castle a noble minstrel-pair, 
The one had silver tresses, the other golden hair ; 
The old man was a harper, and on a palfrey rode, 
His rosy young companion beside him briskly strode. 

Thus to the youth, the old man : " recall your sweetest 

Bend all your powers together, of pleasure and of pain, 
My music-son be ready, begin in fullest tone, 
For we this day must soften this proud King's heart 

of stone." 

goon in the lofty chamber stood the minstrels side by 

The king enthroned was sitting, and by him sat his 
bride ; 

The King in fearful splendour, like the bloody north- 
ern light, 

His Queen as mild and gentle as the harvest moon so 

The old man struck the harp-strings, he struck them 

wondrous well, 
And richer and still richer 'gan the melody to swell, 
And with celestial clearness the boy's notes rolled 

lake the muffled spirit-chorus of a distant spirit-song. 

And now of golden Eld-Time, of love and life's gay 

spring ; 
Of Freedom, Truth and Glory and Holiness they sing ; 
They sing of what has power to firethe human breast, 
They sing of what has power to lull to Heavenly rest. 

The courtiers crowd in circles and the sneering laugh 

give o'er, 
And bow the King's stern warriors their Father to 


The Queen so lovely, melting in sadness and in joy, 
From her bosom tears a rose-bud and gives the min- 

" Te have seduced my people, seduce ye now my wife?" 

The king in raging fury cries, and shakes a glittering 
knife ; 

He hurls the steel j it quivers in the youthful min- 
strel's heart, 

From which, instead of golden songs, the purple blood- 
streams start. 

The raptured throng is scattered as if by the tempest- 

And in his loving master's arms the boy haB breathed 

his last. 
He bound him on the palfrey and with his mant3e 

He wrapt the gory body, and with it turned away. 

But the white-haired minstrel halted at the doorway 

of the hall, 
And seized his silver singing harp, that harp excelling 

Against a pillar dashed it, and broke its trembling 

Then speaks he and his awful voice through hall and 

garden rings. 

" Woe, woe, to thee, proud castle! may never harp Or 

Through thy marble-columned chambers roll the 

music-tide along, 
But may ye ever echo to the groans and shrieks of 

Till th' avenging spirit sink you in ruin to your 

graves 1 

" Woe to you gardens, blooming in the kindly light Of 

Look ye upon this blackened face that shone so bright 

That seeing, ye may wither and each sparkling fona- 

tain dry, 
That ye with horror stricken may in desolation lie. 

" Woe, woe, remorseless murderer ! forgotten be thy 

In vain be all thy striving, for bloody wreaths of fame, 
Thou bitter curse to minstrelsy, thy memory sbaW 

And like an air-spent death groan, die thou and b* 

forgot I" 

Thus has the old man spoken, nor has heaven its ven- 
geance stayed, 

The towering walls are fallen, and the halls in rata* 

There stands a single pillar to tell of former potroK 

And that already riven, may tumble in an hour. 



And round instead of gardens, is a barren. heather- 

The trees are gone, no fomntain now gushes through 
the sand, 

The King — no books relates his deeds, nor songs of 
bard rehearse, 

forsaken and forgotten ! this is the minstrels curse. 



Zibes was a Junior and could smoke 
a pipe, or drink a glass . of the 
' creetur' as well as any man in 
his class. He was not remarkable 
for ' deviling ' the Fresh, though I 
have known him to sacrifice a half 
dozen papers of 'Long's best' to 
gee if .they were 'pure grit.' At 
home, where the eyes of the ' old 
folks ' were continually, on him, he 
was considered a paragon of virtue ; 
but at College he often threw aside 
his ' old fogy ' notions, and would 
indulge in such .innocent pastimes 
as shooting a cow or a pig, or burn- 
ing an old pair of cotton breeches 
Btutfed with paper, and, now and 
then, a belfry ; for all of which he 
was perfectly justifiable in his own 

Thus he was wont to reason :— 
" dont the cows and pigs tear up 
the shrubbery and grass in the 
campus, and does not the old belfry 
ehelter the greatest nuisance in col- 
lege, and who has a right to com- 
plainif I burn all my old breeches?" 

He took a mite too, if I may 
credit the circulars which were sent 
home to his parents for I have often 
]iV;T''d them say that their son was 

considered a tolerably respectables 
scholar by the faculty at the Uni- 

One of Zfbes's weak points was 
a too susceptible heart; he would 
fall in love with every new and 
pretty face that came along. He 
once followed a band* of -itinerant 
singers a hundred miles or more, 
because one of the girls happened 
to look at him whiha singing a. very 
pathetic ballad. 

I have related enough of his his- 
tory for you to form an estimate of 
Zibes character, so X.will immedir 
ately come to the pointy by relating 
in as nearly as possible, his own 
language, his adventures, at the 

Says he to me ' Chum,' (I had 
forgotten to mention that he was 
my chum,) ' did I ever tell you of 
my spree at the ball last winter V 

Of course he had not, and I vol-, 
unteered my attention while he 
should relate it. 

1 Well/ said he, filling his pipe 
and laying his feet, carefully over 
the mantle-peice, "it occurred dur- 
ing our last winter vacation. ' — 
' What occurred V said I with a 
yawn, for I was nearly asleep. — 
' The ball., of. course/ said he /and 
blowing a long, slender wreath of 
smoke out at the corner of his 
mouth, he continued, his story as 
follows : 

' One of the managers came to • 
me and enquired if I would'nt help . 



* get up a ball. Having learned 
where, how, and when #he thing 
was to be carried on, I gave him a 
Y. and told him to consider me in.' 
' I slept soundly enough during 
that and the succeeding nights ; but 
on the one previous to the ball I 
was troubled with dreams of the 
most horrid character • my new 
pants I thought did not come to my 
knees, and my " spike " seemed 
glued to my heels, so long was it, 
and such a love had it acquired for 
my pedal extremities. ' Will you 
allow me the pleasure of conduct- 
ing you to supper,' said I to some 
imaginary angel without wings.; — 
' Ive, he ! — reckon you better git up 
and go to breakfast if you want any.' 
This remark was addressed to me 
by the boy who generally brushed 
my boots, and who was at this time 
engaged in this mysterious opera- 

' I rubbed my eyes and looked 
around the room : the long dusky 
sun beams streaming across the floor, 
the fire cracking in the grate, and 
the white teeth of the boy, Tobe, 
all offered inducements to sleep yet 

|a little longer ; but I resisted them 

i all and got up.' 

1 I will not bore you with a de- 

-. scription of the manner in which 
i passed the time intervening break - 

' fast and night; but suffice it to say 
that night came at last, and with it 
I went to the ball.' 

'^Intrary to what my dream 

portended, my 'bugs' fitted very 
well ; I will not describe them to 
you. I had been to the tailor, and 
as ' the tailor makes the man' I was 
a man in the fullest signification of 
the term.' 

' At first I danced to try my legs, 
next because everybody else waa 
dancing, and finally I danced more 
to fulfill the numerous engagmenta 
I had made than any thing else.-—- 
Ere long, however, when I had just 
handed an old maid to a seat, with 
whom I had danced through com- 
passion, things took quite a differ- 
ent turn. By some unlucky chance 
my oculars fell upon what would bo 
termed among us a < deuced pretty 
girl' and I gazed upon her long and 
steadfastly as she floated over the • 
floor like a cloud of white mist." 

' Oh, that Cupid had never been 
born, then should 1 have remained 
unscathed to this day !' 

This exclamation, bursting as it 
did from his very heart, rather 
startled me, and I was about to in- 
quire if he was unwell, when, with- 
out heeding me, he went on. 

' In the voluminous folds of her 
dress I espied the little blind-god j 
he was fitting an arrow to his bow 
at the time, and I suspected that 
he had some design. upon my heart. 
Ye Gods, how I trembled ! I dodged 
behind my partner, but it was too 
late — the cruel shaft had entered 
my bosom just below the place 
where I wear my club pin," (Zibea 



was a member of the E. A. E. Club,) 
e and I shall always believe it was 
that which attracted his attention ; 
at any rate I pulled it off, and have 
not worn it since. But to return, 
I was unacquainted with the divine 
creature in whose flounces Cupid 
had taken up his head-quarters. I 
saw the little imp exulting in his 
success and he fairly chuckled with 
glee as the last arrow sped swiftly 
from his bow; and, bending it across 
his knee with his chubby little hands 
»b if to try its strength, he settled 
himself for a comfortable enjoy- 
ment of the commotion he had 
kicked up among the hearts there 

I had often heard it said that sol- 
diers, before going to battle, take a 
little gunpowder and whiskey so 
keep their courage to the sticking 
point ; and, as the gunpowder and 
whiskey could not be easily procur- 
ed, I contented myself with a beetle 
drop ' of brandy and sugar. Weak 
and trembling in my knees, I was 
led up to the smiling — not grinning 
battery whence peeped forth two 
as dangerous looking eyes to the 
heart of a poor Junior as one sel- 
dom meets with. A ball-room 'knock 
down ' ensued, and I found mysel^ 
right in the jaws of the enemy,bow- 
ing and scraping worse than a 
Frenchman ; but ' devd a word ' 
eould I speak. I tried the usual 
remarks concerning the weather, 
fcut got my tongue fast between my 

teeth and came very near biting it 
off before^ succeeded in getting it 
out. I felt embarrassed and she 
looked so. The weather topic was 
resorted to again, but with no bet- 
ter success.' 

' It must have been that infernal 
brandy and sugar/ said he by way 
of parenthesis, 'for my tongue never 
refused to perform its office under 
any other circumstances. Silence 
was becoming painful, and in the 
bitterness of my spirit I pronounc- 
ed an imprecation on all brandy 
and brandy mongers, (inwardly I 
mean for I could not speak.) At 
this juncture, to make matters worse 
I cast an eye over my shoulder and 
perceived a contemptible little law- 
yer, noted for his garrulous propen- 
sities, making straight for us.' 

* Something must be done and 
that soon, ' thought I, ' or that 
devil's imp will cut me out before 
I have even made an attempt to be 
cut in.' Things were assuming a 
desperate appearance, and the only 
way that appeared to me for extri- 
cating myself from the difficulty 
was to suck myself full of wind 
and trust to the chances as to 
whether it would make any noise 
when I let it out. It was no soon- 
er thought of than put in operation. 
I sucked in cold, air on top of my 
brandy and sugar 'till I looked, 
for all the world, like a great mad 
toad j (a smile now played around 
her mouth,) and when I turnqd it 



out there came with it a terrible 

loud remark about the *' d ned 

cold weather.' ' 

'She started as if the last trump 
had sounded in her ears. 'A thou- 
sand pardons, Miss/ said I, now 
fully aroused to a sense of my crit- 
ical condition, ' I swear before Ju- 
piter it was unintentional.' 'Worse 
and worse,' said she, ' I do believe 
you are possessed.' I modestly 
stated that I was not, but could see 
no serious objection to being pos- 
sessed by her. ' What V said she, 
and she looked like the very picture 
of surprise, ' I would not own such 
an incorrigible animal as you are,' 
and it seems to me that she said 
something about the luDatic asylum. 
' Pooh !' said I, ' you are the very 
gall for me : if you ain't, why then 
the old boy is a terrapin, and lives 
in an ice-house.' 

Here I ventured to remark and 
asked him who the old boy was. — 
'Why, the devil of course,' said 
he resuming his story as follows : 

' The musicians now struck up 
a waltz and before she knew what 
was what £ had her whirling around 
the room like an open umbrella in 
a whirlwind. One by one the cou- 
ples dropped into our wake until 
the whole room seemed to be going 
round. The brandy got into my 
head at last together with the idea 
that they were all trying to outstrip 

.Here Zibes became enthusiastic 

and took his feet down from the 
mantle-peice, and placed them un- 
der his chair: his eyes sparkled 
like fire, and he broke his pipe into 
a hundred pieces by one tremendous 
rap on the floor. I dodged at first 
thinking that he was about to let 
me have it over the head for laugh- 

' I cut a caper first on one toe r 
then on 'tother, and sometimes I 
went it on both toes at once : all 
the time I was slinging my gall so 
hard that her dross stuck straight 
out behind, like the broad flat tail 
of a weather-cock. The others went 
it like smoke, but they could not 
keep up with your uncle Zibes.' 

' I went like a race-horbe and be- 
gan to 'pile on the agony.' My 
old boot heels told on that floor I 
tell you, and my gall blowed worse 
than a porpoise ; but I heeded it not 
I was too much absorbed with the 
emotion of my feet to see or hear 
anything else.' 

' At last, when I thought myself 
a head of all competition, I receiv- 
ed a terrible hard knock right in tha 
middle of the forehead. The fire 
rolled from my eyes and I rolled an, 
the floor, but I was up again and 
looking sharp for my partner bo- 
fore you could do that,' (snapping 
his fingers within an inch of my 
nose.) ' When I found her she was 
sitting right where she fell convuls- 
ed with laughter. Going up to hep 
and politely bowing, I told her that 



I would lick that fellow for her if 
Bhe would just say the word. This, 
however, only made her laugh the 
more, and, as every body else was 
laughing, I laughed too like a great, 
gawky fool as I was.' 

Zibes says he went home soon af- 
ter this occurrence and went to 
Bleep ; but did not find out until 
the next day that it was a post 
which knocked him down and not 
' a fellow ' as he at first believed. — 
He still loves the girl, however, and 
Bays at some future time he will 
tell me how she came to kick him. 


I hope I will not be censured by 
my matter of fact friends, when 
they learn that occasionally I in- 
dulge in a reverie. It may serve 
for a bad example, too, to the " low- 
er classes " to inform them that a 
Senior can turn aside from the dig- 
nity of practical thought, and open 
his heart to impressions that should 
have ceased with his puerile fancies, 
and embody dreams that should 
have lived only in the first radiant 
glow of his imagination. 

But philosophise as you will, who 
will not have his reverie when time, 
place and circumstances demand 
it? Life is not so pleasant, that a 
picture may not be preferred to the 
real," and, if I sit here to night, cos- 
ily building Chateaux en Espagne, 
what heartless wretch would dare 

disturb me by impudently suggest- 
ing that I should be at better busi- 
ness ? The present giddy and fast 
acre laughs to scorn Lhc unfortunate 
one, who cannot be so intoxicated 
with the pleasuies of to-day as to 
forget that he has lived before, and 
to that scorn I now present my un- 
sheltered head and hurl defiance. 

I am no advocate for those eter- 
nal sentimental longings for the 
past, that make a song for un- 
feeling hearts, nor have I. any 
sympathy with those, to whom, 
every glance at the moon, every 
sound of music and every rustle of 
the breeze recall some blessed mo- 
ments of ecstasy or woe. But I 
must believe that in this helter 
skelter world, man is not material- 
ly injured by a pause and retrospect. 
The impetuous youth who is heed- 
lessly rushing into the whirlpool of 
vice and ruin, may yet be redeemed 
by taking one more glance at that 
sunny past whose green fields and 
passionless winds spoke no guile to 
his heart, and to him whose deal- 
ings with the world have made him 
blase and cynical, these recollections 
will come and linger in his bosom 
as silently and strangely as if some 
summer breeze had strayed away 
from its region and was melting an 
iceberg in the frozen zone. 

My reverie does not happen in 
auspicious circumstances. There 
is no moon in the sky and no twink- 
ling stars are laughing. I look 



through the blinds andjall is darkness 
and clouds. The monotonous drip 
ping of the rain and the lonely howl 
ing winds remind me that autumn 
is coming and summer has gone. — 
A faded rose on my table is bring- 
iogup pleasant memories and mourn- 
fully whispers, too. 

* Leave* hare their time to fall, 

And flowers to wither at the North wind's breath." 

And now, as I watch by the dy- 
ing couch of summer and catch its 
last breath on the flowers it has left 
me, I am called back to a time when 
it stood forth in living heauty on 
mountain, hill and dale. 

One of its brightest days comes 
and I am on a steamer making my 
way up the Potomac. I see noth- 
ing remarkable around me, yet the 
name ©f Mt. Vernon has been up 
permost in my thoughts, and excit- 
ed in my bosom an absorbing in- 
terest. The associations -connected 
"with it have long ago fallowed it 
to me, and I am longing for a sight 
of that spot where lived and died 
the " father of his country." With 
impatience I rail at the old steamer 
as she puffs away, and yet brings 
not in view the wished for object. 
At last Mt. Vernon is announced, 
«,nd the tolling of our bell tells that 
we are approaching sacred ground. 
1 fix my eyes on a majestic old hill 
that stands by the river side and 
find myself repeating' Washington, 
Washington.' On, slowly, we go, 
and the old fashioned, massive house 

now looks forth from beneath tow* 
ering trees and writes its portrait 
on my memory forever. As we 
gradually leave it behind, I gaze 
upon it, till it is lost in the distance, 
and then find myself repeating— 

" How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest." 

But now the scene is changed, and 
[ am a sojourner in Gotham, snug- 
ly esconced in a room at the St. 
Nicholas which looks -out upon 
Broadway. I have just met my 
friend Jack, who says he has been 
here for several days and is having 
a good time. "Jack," say I, "have 
you seen the sights ?" "Yes," says 
he, " and I tell you New York is 
the greatest place in Christendom; 
only look down now upon Broad* 
way and you will find enough to 
entertain you for a day." And 
truly, what an insight to the man- 
ners, customs, conditions, fashions 
and forms of life does a " coup 
d'oeil" on this street furnish one* 
Here goes everybody, helter skelter, 
pell-mell, old and young, great and 
low. Omnibuses, hacks, carr ages, 
buggies, carts, fire engines all rush- 
ing along colliding and retreating 
and making noise enough to run a 
man crazy. Indeed, I am appre- 
hensive of a nervous attack, and 
prudence suggesting a sedative, I 
propose to Jack a sip at Sherry 
Cobblers. He thinks it a good idea 
and after a violent ring, a servant 
appears, hears my orders, and after 



ejaculating ' all right/ makes his 
exit and then reappears, bearing 
the aforesaid cobblers. \ Anything 
else V says]; he-rr-' Nothing/ say I, 
and out he goes, and Jack and 1 to 
our straws. l Jack/ say I, as the 
glow of our symposium begins to 
be visible on us both, ' are not straws 
very communicative for inanimate 
objects ?' Yes/ says Jack, { they 
often 'tell which way the wind 
blows ' and I think if these we have 
were questioned they could tell 
which way the wine goes.' ' Very 
true/ say J, ' and as my straw says 
it has gone, I move a replenish.' — 
Carried without opposition j and 
when at the return of glasses I gaze 
upon the rich color of the Sherry I 
grow really enthusiastic and break 
forth, in strains of eloquence — 

" The poets may love 
The stars above, 
But I love wine." 

? Yes/ says Jack, ' it is a glorious 
thing, and this is a somewhat dif- 
ferent article from that old corn 
whiskey which disturbs the sleep 
of the good folks at Chapel Hill. — 
Then here's to a pleasant time in 
the city, and by the way, Miss Eliza 
Logan is to play to-night at Wal- 
lach's Theatre, so let us get ready 
to go, for she is creating great ex- 
citement here.' l Good/ say I, 'and 
now for the theatre.' 

Miss Logan is a splendid looking 
lady, with a countenance striking- 
ly showing the intellectual and fig- 
lire superb for the stage. The play 

for to-night is the " Italian Bride/' 
written expressly for her, by a gen- 
tleman of Savannah. We are at 
the Theatre, waiting with impa- 
tience for the opening of the play. 
At length the bell rings, the cur- 
tain goes up and the popular actress 
comes forth. Her voice is com- 
manding and melodious and in eve- 
ry part of her performance she 
shows talent and cultivation. The 
" Italian Bride " is a well conceived 
and well written play. Venetia. 
(Miss Logan) is betrothed to Clodio, 
who has Hugo for a true and faith- 
ful friend. Erancesco, a disappoin- 
ted lover, secretly slays Venetia' s 
father with Clodio's dagger, and 
thereby implicates him. . The case 
is under trial — Yenetia is frantic — > 
Clodio despairing — Hugo mortified 
and Francesco triumphant. Hugo 
wavers in his faith of his friend' 8 
innocence, then regains his trust, 
calls Francesco liar and challenges 
him. The Doge of Benico, before- 
whom the case is tried, has them, 
separated and condemns Clodio to. 
death. Clodio is in prison, Venetia. 
visits him and offers him a disguise* 
under which he may escape ; he 
first hesitates, then refuses, and 
Yenetia in despair leaves him. Ye- j 
netia alone — Francesco approachea i 
and renews his suit — is scornfully 
repulsed— becomes enraged— swear* 
she shall be his — offers to lay hand* 
upon her — she screams and crie* 
for assistance — Hugo rushes in- 



attacks Franecsco and slays him. — 
Francesco in dying acknowledges 
his guilt and tells them to hasten 
to save Clodio who is about to be 
broken on the wheel. Hugo and 
Venitia arrive in time to save Clodio 
and Clodio and Yenetia are united. 
Again, Jack and I are on Broad- 
way, rushing along, not caring a 
fig where we go to. Take a notion 
we must go to the foot of Canal 
St. and see some shipping. Here 
we are on board the steamship At- 
lantic which is to sail to-morrow 
for Europe. ' Jack,' say I, ' as we 
have friends and acquaintances 
about to sail on this vessel, if we 
were but graduates, I should feci 
like accompanying them.' ' That 
would be very nice,' says Jack, 
* but we are not graduates, and, 
■ therefore, we had best go ashore.' 
Then here we are in Barnum's 
Museum, looking at his 'Big Snake' 
- * Happy Family,' ' Stuffed Giraffe,' 
i and other curious humbugs. 'Where 
, next,' says Jack. ' Dusselford Gal- 
lery/ say 1, and here we see some 
> very fine paintings and I am much 

i 'Hurrah for Fifth Avenue,' say 
III, as we go strolling up this cele- 
j-brated street looking upon magnifi- 
ixcent dwellings, beautiful yards and 
I splendid equipages. Here comes a 
i superb phaeton, a span of beautiful 
, i greys, and two young ladies reclin- 
i ling araull length in it with a look 
. ?f quiet langor and fashionable 

nonchalance. ' Jack,' say I, l aint 
those ladies very'sick V ' Oh ! no,' 
says he, ' that is the latest fashion 
of riding.' 

• At the top of Trinity Church 
steeple ! Yes, here I stand, puffing 
and blowing from my effort in walk- 
ing up. A magnificent view is be- 
fore me. New York with its ship- 
ping lies open to my eyes, and its 
busy population are rushing and 
working far below. I breathe freer 
now, as I feel myself lifted far 
above this mass of miscellaneous 
human beings all busy in the great 
struggle of life. Ah ! who can tell 
the sufferings, the cares, the woes 
and misfortunes that are felt by the 
inmates ot walls that I am now 
looking upon ! Who would attempt 
to picture the dai-kness that sur- 
rounds hearts that have long ago 
sighed farewell to virtue and hap- 
piness, and are now preyed upon 
by the gnawing demons of remorse? 
And here amid all this, stands the 
house of God with its fretted vaults 
and pealing anthem, rearing its stee- 
ple high above earth as if it might 
retain the smiles of Heaven as they 
fly away from the scenes below 1 

But I am growing tired of th^. 
city. It is becoming monotonous^ 
and my sense almost leave me in 
the eternal uproar around. So here 
I go with the swiftness of the wind 
on the Hudson Biver Bailroad, 
stopping every ten minutes at the 
many towns of this beautiful stream 



and finding myself perfectly en- 
tranced by the scenery on each side 
of me. I have listened to extrav- 
agant accounts of the scenery on 
the Hudson, but never imagined it 
as beautiful as the reality. The 
loveliest landscapes that canvass 
can boast, fade into insignificant 
shadows, when compared with the 
banks of the Hudson. Its green 
mountains standing off in majestic 
beauty from the water's side — its 
white sails that meet the eye at all 
its romantic windings, and the clear 
and placid appearance of its waters 
all bring to the mind visions of the 
gayest hue. My imagination has 
brought a moon-light night, and 
images of the stars are dancing in 
the bright bosom of the Hudson, 

" There breathes a liviDg fragrance from the shore 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grass-hopper one good night carol more." 

and the tinkling of a guitar togeth- 
er with a voice sweeter than the 
flowers is falling upon me and eyes 
brighter than the stars are resting 
upon me and — "Sing Sing" roars 
the conductor as he rushes in the 
car and away go all my beautiful 
dreams. Here is the penitentiary 
of New York, say I to myself, and 
I will as soon realize a berth here 
to learn a profession as all of my 
fancy visions. Here again is Tar- 
rytown, near where the chivalric 
and generous Andre was arrested 
and fell a victim to the wiles of Ar- 

nold's treason. Yonder is West 
Point, and here is Peeckskill and 
Poughkeepsie, all places which have 
their names recorded in American 
history. Now I am in Troy, (not 
Troy where Priam reigned, Achillea 
fought and Hector fell, but Troy 
on the banks of the Hudson,) and 
they tell me I must stay here four 
or five hours to wait for the eve- 
ning train. Well, it is a very com- 
fortable place, say I to myself, good 
bar, good hotel, and this is a glori- 
ous lounge ; and I stretch myself 
supinely with the utmost don't care 
expression on my countenance and 
snore away. Dinner is over with 
the interesting prelude of a cobbler 
in which I have drunk (below the 
surface) to the friends I left behind 
me. Again in the cars and "Troja 
relicta," 1 find myself rapidly tra- 
versing a beautiful country, and 
soon Ballston is announced, wh:'ch, 
has sadly " fallen from its high es- 
tate," and remains one of the things 
that were. Its waters have ceased 
t receive their summer homage^ 
and it has been eclipsed by the 
shining fame of its neighbor Sar 

Anothing stopping place, anc 
here I stand with the rain driving 
away upon me, waiting to get 
glimpse of my good valise, astruril 
and bandboxes, and every thinJ 
that would hold broadcloth, silfafe 
linen and muslin are beingxumblej 
out upon the platform, irhile cri« 



of ' United States Hotel,' ' Congress 
Hall,' 'Union Hall/ 'Columbian 
Hotel ' are deafening my ears, and 
I begin to believe that I have real- 
ly gotten to Saratoga. Well here 
is my valise, and now I am regis- 
tered and quartered at the ' United 
States," thinking Saratoga is a great 

The ' United States ' is certainly 
an elegant Hotel. Its massive and 
splendidly furnished parlors, beauti- 
ful grounds, attentive servants, and 
its bountiful and delicious table af- 
ford you every comfort you can 
desire. Having made a survey of 
the premises I seek my couch, and 
I am dreaming away of quadrilles, 
watzes and polkas, of gay flirta- 
tions, blanched cheeksjbroken hearts 
and wasted forms, of stern old papas 
and pouting damsels, of henpecked 
husbands and commanding wives 
'with appendages of twenty-three 
trunks, of ' two-forty ' horses draw- 
ing on shell-roads bundles of hoops 
and dry goods of the same speed, 
when lo ! my eyes are opened and 
the rays of the sun peeping through 
'the blinds tell me that morn has 
wme. Here I stand at the great 
Congress Spring, drinking my fifth 
3 ;lass — say I like it very much ; but 
nuppose my fondness acquired from 
'he habit of taking Eepson Salts in 
leases of sickness. Again, here is 
[ he < High Rock Spring,' which is 

great curiosity, and the good old 
tvoman who keeps it, tells me as 

"■ she dips up a glass and hands it 
to me, that ' it has got none of them 
fine fixins thattother Springs have, 
but is just as the Lord seed fit to 
make it.' She shows me a place 
under the bank near by, where the 
Mohawk Indians used to encamp, 
and said that they brought Sir Wil- 
liam Johnson, the old Royal Gov- 
ernor, thirty miles on their backs 
to the Spring, and its waters cured 
him of an alarming illness. The 
name of this Spring arises from its 
being situated in an isolated, coni- 
cal shaped rock, about five feet in 
height with a round opening at the 
top over which the water formerly 
flowed. Here are the Empire, 
Washington, Hamilton, Columbia 
and Iodine Springs, all of which 
are said to possess many virtues. 
But I am wearied by my long walk 
and I return to my hotel in time 
for dinner, to which I am ushered 
in great style by Morriss, the cele- 
brated head waiter. I take my 
seat and glance around me. Slow- 
ly and carelessly the company comes 
in, one by one, and at the intervals 
of the courses, I am engaged in 
scanning faces. Surely, say I, the 
elite of Saratoga has'nt arrived yet, 
for i see nothing to remind me of 
superior style, blood or talent. My 
dinner is swallowed, and I resort 
to a bowling saloon to pass away 
the afternoon. 

Saratoga is becoming pleasant, 
is. my reflection oa the second day 


of my arrival — I have formed sev- 
eral acquaintances, aid a visit to 
the Battle Ground by way of the 
Lake, has been proposed. Nothing 
would please me better, say I, and 
here we go four of us, in a good car- 
riage drawn by stout horses, with 
our hearts full of expectations of 
pleasure for the day. We have 
gone six miles, and now before us 
lies Lake Saratoga in all its beauty. 
The Lake House is a very nice es- 
tablishment, furnishing b«-ss and 
trout dinners, champagne, maderia, 
and sherry. A beautiful grass plot 
lies in front with its fish ponds in 
which are seen swimming many 
varieties of the finny tribe, and at 
the foot of the hill is the shore of 
the Lake, where are anchored sail 
and row boats, while away on the 
other side is seen S^ake Hill rising 
up boldly from the water. But we 
have seen the Lake, and now for 
the Battle Ground. Again, we are 
on our journey and are winding 
along for miles on the shore of the 
Lake, whose waters are splashing 
away at our feet, at the sound of 
which I mechanically repeat — 

" Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, sea." 

On we go, the sun is approaching 
the meridian when lo ! we stand on 
the Battle Ground of Saratoga. A 
wheat field smiling in its verdure, 
o'er which the gentle breeze is blow- 
ing, and from which comes the song 
of the bob-a-link, was once the 

scene of courage and bloodshed.- 
That large bass-wood tree yonde 
marks the place where the galla 
Fraser fell as he was leading bae 
to battle the panic stricken sons of 
Britain. But now we are on Bemis 
Heights and recollections are rush- 
ing o'er my soul and my imagina- 
tion brings back scences that long 
since have become old. That old 
poplar stands where Arnold had 
his quarters — here are remains of, 
the American breast-works, and 
that old kitchen was occupied by 
the brave and daring Morgan. A 
bright autumn morning has fallen 
upon the hills, and its sun-shineu 
upon men arrayed in the " pomp 
and circumstance of glorious war." 
Here rages Arnold in his restless 
confinement, and there he goes 
again like a madman plunging int<; 
the ranks of the enemy. Then 
rings out the calm voice of the ok 
Virginia rifleman, as he urges hii 
men on to the work of death. Her 
sits the proud and haughty Gatea 
coolly arguing politics with a wound 
ed Englishman. There, in that ol 
kitchen, is the wounded Ackland o 
the British grenadiers, with his lov< 
ly wife bending over him and sho^ 
ing a love that death cannot terrifj 
A beautiful and commanding en 
inence is Bemis Heights. The Hue 
son with all its beautj winds alon 
its base, and herds of cattle an 
sheep are feeding upon the meadow 
in the valley. In the distance ai 



een the tops of the Green Moun- 
ains in Vermont, and on every 
land wheat and clover fields. The 
»resent tenant of the Hill is a man 
lamed Neilson, who boasts of des- 
ent from a revolution sire and the 
eputation of an author, as he has 
written a book called " Burgoyne's 
Campaign," which I have purchas- 
d and intend to keep as a literary 
uriosity. Having dined with Mr. 
reilson, we start again for Saratoga 
nd I throw away several sticks 
diich I had cut and determined to 
reserve as relics, which waning of 
athusiasm is made the object of a 
ood laugh by my companions. — 
vening comes and we are at Sara- 
jga talking over our adventures 
j] the tea-table of our Hotel. 
1 Another moraine; dawns and I 
in again at the Congress Spring — 
We finished my sixth glass and 
W aside to look upon the many 
r *inkers. Splash, splash goes the 
' pper into the Spring, and the dip- 
J ;ng boys are as wet as if they had 
Sen in a shower, and guggle, gug- 
l( e goes the water down eager 
roats as if the virtue of life de- 
manded upon the draughts. Here 
r ')bbles an old frosty haired man 
id convulsively clutches the glass, 
tid as he returns it for the tenth 
: eleventh time, a gleam of hope 
>ays upon his countenance and he 
<rns away. Here comes, with a 
ujestic air a pseudo young lady 
! th her gipsy hat sitting beauti- [ 

fully upon her head and her silk 
hanging gracefully over an abun- 
dance of crinoline, and with the ut- 
most grace she extends her neatly 
gloved hand to receive the delight- 
ful beverage ; but oh ! she raises her 
hat too much from her face, and 
beneath the deep rouge there lurks 
the hateful wrinkle and < old maid' 
escapes involuntarily from my lips. 
And again, here are a fashionable 
papa and mamma, followed by good 
Irish Bridget, leading a bright look- 
ing boy with. blue eyes, sunny ring- 
lets- and rosy checks. ' Come Wil- 
lie/ says mamma, ' have some Con- 
gress water.' Willie tastes it, does 
not like it, says it is not good. — 
' Oh ! Willie/ says kind mamma, 
you must drink it, all good boys 
drink it for their health.' Willie 
does not like to be anything else 
than a good boy, so he swallows 
two or three glasses, and mamma 
calls him a brave boy. Eh bien ! 
say I to myself, I suppose fashion 
says, drink at this Spring, and if 
Willie is as healthy as one could 
wish him to be, he must take his 
number of glasses as all good boys 
do. But another scene. Tis eve- 
ning, and after reading all day the 
' Lamplighter/ I find myself again 
on the grounds of the Congress 
Spring. Now I am walking the 
same road that Certy walked, when 
she thought herself deserted. I 
pass by the statues of Cupid, 
Bacchus and Ceres, but I heed them 



not. The squirrels run and gam- 
bol at my feet, and! singing birds 
perch above my head; but my 
thoughts are of Gerty. Glorious 
Gerty ! I exclaim, if I could but find 
one heart like yours, I would labor 
a lifetime to win it ! Now I am at 
the ' Circular Eail Way/ and stand 
where she jtood when her unknown 
father first saved her from death, 
and I picture her here and elsewhere 
by the death-bed of Uncle True, 
with the blind Emily Graham, in 
the cabin of Mrs. Sullivan, and still 
she seems the same noble, generous, 
kigh-souled, self-sacrificing being, 
and my reflection is would that I 
might meet a second Gerty. 

' Farewell Saratoga,' say I one 
bright morning, and now I am des- 
tined for Niagara. The locomotive 
on the New York Central Eailroad 
is making rapid progress. Schen- 
ectady has been left behind — the 
beautiful valley of the Mohawk has 
risen to my view and faded as a 
dream — Syracuse, Utica,Eochester, 
and other places have been passed 
and ten o-' clock at night finds me 
at the International Hotel, listening 
to the roar of the Falls of Niagara 
The anxiously looked for day has 
come, and at the first glances of the 
sun I am standing at the foot of the 
American falls. ; Tis a grand and 
magnificent sight, and one incapa- 
ble of any description that every 
one has not heard. Now I am 
wandering over Goat Island, imag- 

ining how I should feel on a moon- 
light night, if in my promenade a 
softer arm was linked in mine and 
a tender voice was breathing in my 
ears. But here I stand on the top 
of the Tower in the midst of the 
Horse Shoe Falls near the Canada 
shore, and looking upon rainbows 
that are forming below, and now I 
am descending Biddle's^Stairs to t&e 
mouth of the Cave ; but the guide 
being absent I cannot go in. 

' On a foreign shore,' I exclaim,, 
as I step from the Suspension Bridge 
into Canada, where my driver with 
his carriage is waiting for me. I 
jump in and pass along the bank in 
the direction of the Falls. A steam- 
boat is seen puflrng its way up to 
the Falls, and the driver points to : 
it and asks if I know what that: 
boat is made of? 'Is it not made 
of wood V say I, 'No/ gays he, 'it 
is Maid of the Mist.' (Bah, I ex-i 
claim, surely I must be in Chapel 
Hill, North Carolina.) Here we! 
go by the Clifton House and arrivei 
at Lundy's Lane, where, on the top' 
of the Pagoda, an old British Cap-< 
tain fights the battle over for my 
benefit. He points out the place 
where Scott was wounded, and 
agrees with me in the opinion that 
he is a great General. Yonder is 
Brock's Monument at Queenstowny 
and through a telescoj)e I can dis-i 
tinguish the outlines of Lakes Erie 
and Ontario. The Burning Spring 
is the next object of curiosity on 



the Canada side, where I see the 
gas burn, taste the water, pay a 
shilling for a fee, and then return 
to my Hotel by way of the Table 
Bock. Well, say I to myself, after 
dinner, all the sights have been seen 
and the train leaves this evening 
for New York, so adieu Niagara. 
May your Falls never be less and 
your Indian curiosities increase 
while Indians decrease ! 

St. Nicholas again ! Same old 
tramp on Broadway, Bowery Boys 
and Dead Bahbits in a riot, Fourth 
of July and everybody drunk, fire- 
crackers exploding and Gen. "Wal- 
ker just gone. Go to see Eliza Lo- 
gman play again. She chants the 
Marseilles Hymn and acts 'Love's 
Sacrifice.' But hang the city for 
,ne ! I would like to be at Saratoga 
Utgain, but am bound to travel a dif- 
ferent way. Philadelphia, Balti- 
more, ChesapeakBay, Norfolk, and 
ihorresco referens) Chapel Hill ! — 
ji?hese complete the list and the last 
mds my reverie. ' What in the 
j<rorld are you doing V says my 
■! eighbor Sunbeam as he rushes into 
liy sanctum. ' I am indulging a 
reverie say I. ' Reverie V says he. 
rwhat are yen thinking about?' — 
Last Summer,' say I. ' Why, 
uys he, ' wake up man, Summer 
as gone, and I have bought a loao 
ij wood.' < Is it hickory ?' say I. 
Yes.' ' Well then you have mad* 
good bargain.' Well, Sunbean 
»i i are sitting by a blazing fire, 

with our feet against the wall, talk- 
ing about the latest cut of coats and 
the handsomest stripe for pants, and 
sure enough, Summer has gone. 



Many years ago there lived in one 
of our Southern States a wealthy 
planter, whom I shall call Mr. Mon- 
tague. His estate was beautifully 
situated on the banks of a winding 
stream, his lands were excellent, 
and himself the father of a happy 
family ; retired from the world, he 
asked no other society than that 
afforded by his home-circle. 

Ellen Montague especially washer- 
father's pride, and well might she 
be so — lovely, accomplished and 
amiable, what more did she need 
to make her at once the idol of her 
father, the beloved of all ? A pleas- 
ant task it would be to linger over 
these happy day s of her early youth ; 
but a more mournful theme is mine.. 

Years of pleasure glided by 'till 
the commencement of my tale finds 
the fair Ellen, just entering upon 
her eighteenth summer, when the 
imagination is more active, and the 
heart more open to sweet impulses 
than at any other season. It would 
seem that her cup of happiness was 
full to overflowing ; but alas ! none 
knew the bitter draught hid beneath 
its dazzling surface. Of course I 



need not say that she had lovers, 
but the most favored of them all 
w&s her cousin Alfred. Brought 
up together from eai'liest infancy, 
he entertained for her a deep, pure 
love, and was blessed in believing 
it returned. Such was the state of 
affairs when a stranger appeared 
xipon the scene, and as he is an im- 
portant personage in my tale, I will 
say a few words about him. 

Ellen's brother, in a tour through 
the Northern States, had met a 
young attach ee' to the Ottoman 
embassy — he was of noble birth and 
engaging manners, well educated 
and handsome. They spent many 
months of pleasant intercourse, and 
on parting the young stranger was 
strongly urged by the generous 
Southernor to visit him in his sunny 
home. The invitation repeated by 
the warm-hearted sire was accepted. 
But if they had known the viper 
they were cherishing with their 
friendship, they would have shed 
their best heart's blood rather than 
allowed him to cross their happy 
threshold. An accomplished, un- 
principled villain, he concealed his 
real character by skillful hypocricy 
— cold and heartless, his face played 
with looks of fervor and passion — 
a practical libertine, eloquent hom- 
ilies on the beauties of virtue flowed 
from his honeyed lips. No wonder 
that young Montague thought him 
a priceless friend. 

He came at last and was heartily 

welcomed by the hospitable family 
— all united in doing honor to the 
interesting stranger — he was soon 
one of them — the cloven foot had not 
yet appeared ! Ellen was charmed 
by his winning manners, dazzled by 
his brilliant powers. The human 
heart is a mysterious thing — ever 
fickle, ever changing. I will not 
attempt to describe the arts and 
wiles with which the treacherous 
guest wound himself around the 
heart of his unsuspecting victim. 
How skillfully he did it, let his suc- 
cess testify ! Naturally mercurial 
and passionate, the maiden drank 
in with eagerness his high-flown 
tales, and gave credence to his false 
vows, and in a word loved only as 
such can love. To gain her father's 
consent to their union was impossi- 
ble. Actuated by what she would 
fain believe and he represented as 
proper motives, she consented to 
elope with him ! Yes, strange as 
it may seem, such was the case. — 
The upright mind shrinks with ab- 
horrence from the heartless villain 
who could meditate such deception. 

The appointed time arrived, 'twas 
night, stealthily and with doubting 
heart Ellen 'left her happy home 
with her lover. The coast was near ; 
a few short hours saw them on the 
Ocean, America's shores fading in. 
the distance ! 

Ah ! how shall I describe the sor- 
rows of that loving family ! Alfred 
spoke not — his hopes were blasted, 



lis heart crushed forever, his be- 
oved had deserted him ! Young 
Montague rushed forth to seek his 
tis lost sister ; but he was too late, 
jet us draw the vail over their sa- 
red grief and leave them to their 

The scene changes ; we are at the 
ilia of the Turk near Constanti- 
ople; beautiful gardens surround 
magnificent mansion on every 
!de.; the air is redolent with per- 
.me; music sounds sweetly on the 
ir; graceful trees shade pleasant 
alks and birds sing merrily among 
le branches. A lovely woman 
alks alone amid the eastern para- 
ge ; musingly she strolls, and one 
mid almost tell from the changes 
ming over her beautiful counte- 
/nce the thoughts passing through 
r mind. She j>auses ; a shade of 
dness steals over her now ; her 
■is move, " My Father," why that 
ar rolling unbidden down her soft 
eek? This is Ellen Montague; 
ar years have passed since last we 
w her, and time has not left her 
changed ; she is no longer a beau- 
ul girl but a magnificent woman ; 
if charms still bind to her the 
.artless sensualist.' All the luxu- 
■s.that wealth can procure are 
lished upon her. Carried away 
blind passion, she has almost 
gotten the fonl associations of 
* happy childhood, aye, even the 
ale heart which once beat for her 

;h such fond devotion. Although 

she has not yet found out the black- 
ness of her husband's heart, distrust 
sometimes enters her observing 
mind ; her hours of reflection will 
come ; she can but think of the fa- 
ther whose gray hairs she brought 
down in sorrow to the grave; of 
the lover whose homage she had 
despised ; of broken ties and hopes 

lost forever ! Such were her 

thoughts as she wandered ' among 
her pleasure grounds. Beauty af- 
ter all is but for to-day ; the fairest 
flower must fade, the loveliest cheek 
grow pale; and even while the plant 
is yet green and flourishing, some 
hideous insect may change its beau- 
ty into loathsomeness. The sixth 
year of Ellen's married life was an 
eventful one to her j a disgusting 
disease seized upon her lovelyfortn; 
after a painful illness she recovered 
to find her beauty gone forever, and 
with it went the love of her deceiver. 
It was not long ere she discovered 
it; her proud spirit was crushed, 
for she had truly- loved. Awaken- 
ed to all the horrors of her situa- 
tion, she looked with anxious heart 
upon the gloomy future. Other 
women shared her home ; young 
and lovelier brides usurped her place - 
in h*er husband's (for such she con- 
sidered him,) heart ; and she, neg- 
lected, heart-broken, almost sank 
beneath her trials. Two children 
she had as pledges of his love or 
rather villiany ; in her duties as a 
mother she endeavored to sink her 



sorrows as a wife. Amid her griefs 
her stricken spirit turned with fond 
regret to the home of her childhood. 
A thought came to console her ; she 
would return to that home and 
there end her wreUhed life. She 
succeeded in making her escape. 

Once more our scene is changed ; 
we are again at Le Grange, former- 
ly the happy dwelling of the Mon- 
tagues ; but now how different ! — 
Its walls no more resound to the 
joyous laugh ; it is no longer the 
home of peaceful happiness. The 
Destroyer has been there, and many 
a gentle spirit has gone to its last 
resting place, since we were within 
the stately mansion. The weeds 
grow green in the shaded walk so 
often pressed by happy feet in the 
evening stroll. The pretty arbor, 
where the lovers were wont to hold 
such sweet intercourse, is the abode 
of loathsome reptiles. Decay and 
neglect are apparent in every part ; 
the birds sing in the crowded grove; 
but listen in vain for the sweet 
voices that used to carol joyously 
in reply. 

Does any one inhabit the desolate 
old place ? Enter with me the open 
door ; there seated by a table laden 
with ponderous tomes is Alfred 
Montague, the once happy Alfred 
his true heart has known no other 
love. But who would recognise in 
the furrowed brow and wasted form 
of the pale-faced student, the well- 
known Alfred of olden time ? — love 

sits upon his brow — grief has bowed 
the stalwart form and silvered the 
nut-brown hair ; a pen is in hia 
hand and he traces words of magic 
power; in the desolation of the 
heart the intellect has flourished ; 
As when some lovely structure has 
been destroyed by the raging fire, 
from the ruins and ashes a stately 
oak arises, fed by beauties passed 

He starts — what can be the rumb- 
ling noise which falls upon his as- 
tonished ear? Who disturbs the 
recluse ? The sound is heard no 
longer ; he returns to his labors. — 
Suddenly the door opens, a woman 
enters leading two frightened chil- 
dren by the hand. Surprised he 
arises, draws near the group; a 
smothered sob meets his ear a mur- 
mured " Alfred " is heard. Ah 1 
what means that look of agony 
overspreading his open countenance. 
Can it be true ? He seizes her hand 
— the vail falls to the ground, and 
Ellen Montague stands before him ! 

Her cheek once blooming with 
health and beauty, now withered 
and pale ; her once graceful figure 
now bent and tottering over the 
grave. Well might he exclaim — | 
" Can it be true ?" 

Her sad history was soon told — i 
her sorrows found a comforter in; 
the noble-hearted Alfred ; but she 
needed not long his care. A feWi 
short days, and a fresh mound in 
the family burial ground showed, 



where the erring daughter slept be- 
side her broken-hearted father. 

Let me give you another peep, 
gentle reader, at Le Grange, and 1 
have done. It has resumed some- 
thing of its forme? cheerfulness, al- 
though a cloud of sadness still hangs 
over it. An old man is sitting on 
the pleasant porch speaking earn- 
estly to two lovely young creatures; 
he is telling them of their mother 
whose story they now hear for the 
first time ; attentively they listen, 
and tears stream down their cheeks- 
as they dirink in the old man' s words*. 
. Together they visit her lonely grave 
cand mingle their tears o'er the de- 
parted. That old man is Alfred 
i Montague, the noble youth is his 
i lost Ellen's son, and the fair maiden, 
you need but glance into her lovely 
face to. learn the story of her par 


d It may seem absurd for one of 
^ifche present day to offer any com- 
3 iments upon the character and deeds 
*of a man, whose fame rests on a 
■trock foundation, and whose actions 
Ushat once met the gaze of Europe, 
san only be looked at now as ob- 
jects of historical, curiosity and 
pleasure. But like many great men 
'of active life, the subject of this 
imperfect sketch has left his char- 
acter and motives of action, a sub- 

ject of debate for Ms posterity, and 
we can now pass- sentence upon 
them, after cool and historic de- 
liberation, unbiased by those preju- 
dices, which the scenes of to-day 
are apt to inspire us with. "We like 
to turn away at times from the 
busy scenes of the present, and give 
our thoughts to those who- belong 
to a past aige — to call up in our 
minds theis? acts, an<£ from a reflec- 
tion upon, these, to five, as it were 
j for a moment, in their bosoms. — 
From this there can only result les- 
sons of true wisdom. In foot, it is 
only after the age) in which he liv- 
ed, has passed away, that the true 
character of a great actor in life- 
is clearly understood by mankind, 
and a due estimate placed upon it. 
And there will still then remain 
doubts as to whether he deserves* 
the reward of posterity's praise. — 
The character and aims of such a 
man as Napoleon Bonaparte may 
well remain forever a subject of de- 
bate. While some may call him 
Europe's benefactor, others, in the 
other extreme of dislike, would 
brand him; as earth's scourge. It 
is well that it should thus be, for 
great men can then see themselves 
in that best of mirrors, as Thacke- 
ray has it, the estimate of mankind. 
"VVe will then excuse ourselves for 
these comments upon a man who 
flourished a century and a half ago, 
first on the ground that they may 
serve as a matter of historical curi- 


osityandpleasure; secondly because 
we think that a wrong judgment 
has been passed upon him, which 
time ! has not altogther corrected, 
and thirdly because, while his name 
is familiar to every one, very few 
eeem to know really much about 
him. An error of judgment is apt 
to run through many generations, 
and we find that men are generally 
ready to tread in the erring footsteps 
of their predecessors, and always 
loath to improve by their experi- 
ence. How few are willing to forego 
the false pleasures of life, when the 
fate of Adam is open to their eyes, 
and hoW many fret at the petty 
ills of life, when the glorious tri- 
umph of the Messiah's death is re- 
peated from every pulpit. It is 
man's nature to reject the experi- 
ence of those who have gone before 
him, and to make his own test of 
life. In the language of the un- 
grateful Eegan to the Earl of Glos- 
ter, in reference to her wretched 
father, King Lear, whom she had 
so cruelly deceived — 

" To wilful men 
The injuries that they themselves procure,' 
Must he their school-master." 

In no instance do we find men more 
ready to concur in the judgments 
of their predecessors than the esti- 
mate that they have placed upon a 
man's character. It is a vulgar but 
true saying, let a dog lose his good 
name, and he had better be hanged. 
It is in this way that we find men 
erring in their estimate of a man 

who has lived centuries ago, and 
unwilling, with all his noble acts 
staring them full in the face, to give 
him his mede of praise. We some- 
times blush to hear the little praise 
that men of the present day, even 
in our own country, are willing to 
bestow upon those great heroes who 
established our liberty and consti- 
tution. They seem to be ready, 
with sacrelegious hands, to pull 
down the monuments that some of 
their children have erected to their 
m emory . They call Washington — 
the paragon of virtue — a man of 
unsullied virtue, considerable parts, 
made by circumstances, and not de- 
serving half the praise that most of 
us are willing to give him. This 
principle of our nature, we are in- 
clined to believe, proceeds from 
envy, or an unwillingness in the 
human mind to acknowledge a su- 

Andthrs we think an incorrect 
opinion has been formed by many 
of the character and motives of 
Frederick the Great, from those 
wars in which he began that bright 
career which soon made him the 
wonder of Europe. We propose to 
view him and his deeds coolly, di- 
vesting them of that halo of glory 
which their brilliancy once shed 
around them. Let us consider then 
first his character, then the cause 
of his entering into a war, and last- 
ly remark his conduct during that 
war. By a close examination of 



.the nature of man, we find that in 
almost every instance, he gives signs 
in his early life of what is to be his 

■ future career. And although it may 

■ not always seem true that "the 
child is father of the man," it has 

• generally been verified in the char- 
acters of those great men whose 
names are recorded upon the pages 
of history. The great founder of 
the Persian Empire, ev^n in the 
earliest part of his life, foretold that 
he was, some day, to turn the wa- 
ters of a mighty river from their 
accustomed channel, and to scale 
the walls of an almost impregnable 
Babylon, by the skill which he man- 
ifested in the management of that 
influence which he seemed to pos- 

.sess naturally over even his equals 
in age and intellect. He early ex- 
hibited a large degree of wisdom in 
the formation of his plans, and per- 
severance in carrying them into ex- 
ecution ; and these striking charac- 
teristics which shone forth in every 
action of his life, were the prime 
causes of that success which gen- 
erally attended his efforts. Alex- 
ander was but showing forth that 
reckless zeal which was to charac- 

.terize his future actions, in that 
fearlessness with which he mounted 

.the bounding Bucephalus — that his 
only aim, like that of Napoleon 
Bonaparte's, was to rush headlong 
in the nearest road to fame, regard- 
less of right or wrong, while gaping 
millions were sacrificed at each step 

he took. Julius Csesar exhibited 
all the traits of the blood-thirsty 
and glory-grasping tyrant, in that 
delight he took in the sufferings of 
the poor oppressed adherents of 
Marius, imposed upon them by the 
bloody Sylla, during those civil 
wars which so longed disturbed the 
peace of old Borne. And how strik- 
ingly in contrast with these, shine 
forth those noble traits of his char- 
acter, which were exhibited in the 
early days of our great Washing- 
ton, and which received additional 
lustre, when called forth into action, 
by that life of trial which he had 
to lead. 

Since this, then, has been the case 
with most great men, we ought not 
to deny that it was so with Frede- 
rick. What then were the features 
of character manifested by him, 
during his early life 1 ■ Was he like 
the reckless and glory-seeking Al- 
exander, the blood-thirsty Csesar, 
or the noble and Godlike Washing- 
ton ? Was he one who would de- 
light to wade through the blood of 
his fellow-man to pluck the laurel 
of fame, and then leave behind him 
a gasping multitude to breathe his 
name; or was he one whose only 
aim was to be the welfare of man- 
kind, and whose every effort was 
to be conducive thereto ? In reply 
to these questions, we have only to 
recur to the true history of this 
great man, wherein are enumerated 
all the shining qualities, which a- 



domed his youth, which shone still 
brighter in his manhood, and which 
now serve as bright stars to shed 
lustre on his name. Let us then 
look a little into this, and see if we 
cannot gleam from it his real char- 

Frederick, the Great, was the 
eon of Frederick William, 1st Prince 
of Prussia. This Prince is said to 
have formed a connecting link be- 
tween the barbarism of preceding 
ages, and the enlightenment of a 
new era. The sun of the Reforma- 
tion had not yet scattered from his 
mind entirely those clouds of error 
which the evil influence of fee age 
had spread over it; but -still he pos- 
sessed some good traits winch he 
could transmit to his more 'enlight- 
ened posterityfor fuller development. 
Frederick, the Great, was born near 
the beginning of the 18th century, 
a period so remarkable in the an- 
nals of (Europe, as a transition from 
the barbarism of the middle ages 
to a refinement of manners. Eu- 
rope at this time was convulsed 
with war, and the swords of Charles, 
XII, and Louis, XI V, reached from 
the icy shore of Sweden to the sun- 
ny vine-hills of France. The gov- 
ernment of Prussia and Germany, 
at this time, had the appearance of 
a limited monarchy. They were 
divided into small kingdoms or prin- 
cipalities, having their representa- 
tives, called Electors, over whom 
one presided as Prince or Prime 

Elector. Each of these thought it- 
self a sovereign State, and tiiey 
were often at variance with each 
other, while the great Prince be- 
held their petty strifes with perfec 

Sucih was the state of things 
when Frederick was born. One 
would very naturally suppose that 
such a time would have exercised a 
bad inSuence upon the mind of a 
youth, and accustomed him "to all 
the horrors of war ; that he would 
have partaken of the nature of those 
heartless monsters who were then 
reeking their weapons in the blood 
of their fellow-men. But how dif- 
ferent it was with him ? .He pre- 
ferred to lead a more refined life, 
took pleasure in dispensing justice 
and benevolence to all around him, 
and experienced far greater delight 
in the soft notes of his flute than 
in the terrible clashing of arms. — 
To gratify his Father's wishes, he 
would sometimes drill his little com- 
pany of Cadets, but would often 
neglect that to listen to some good 
musicians performance. His mind 
seems to have been better suited to 
the refined life of the student than 
to the rough hardships of the sol- 
dier's life. He had much rather be 
reading some of Voltaire's compo- 
sition, or exercising himself in the 
fine arts, than to be going through 
all the evolutions of an armed force 
with his little band of Cadets, and 
for this reason got many a rebuke 




from his Father, who always wish- 
ed him to devote himself to the 
military life. And we are struck 
with the fact, how circumstances 
will sometimes make a man play a 
brilliant part in that capacity, to 
which his disposition least inclines 
him, when, in after years, we see 
him with his grenadiers, whom 
" Philip de Valois had ridden over 
at Cressy as ' gens de nulle value/ " 
teaching Europe "that he could 
march his troops without troubling 
himself about fortresses ; and that 
activity and good will, as a general 
rule, were better than masonry." 
In all the actions of Frederick, we 
behold the dutiful and affectionate 
eon, the kind and loving brother, 
and the sincere friend. His sister 
speaks of him as being most affec- 
tionate in his disposition, and we 
always see him most obedient to 
his Father, even under^ the worst 
treatment. And when his discon- 
tent towards him had grown to such 
a pitch, on account of certain mat- 
rimonial speculations, that he treat- 
ed him with the utmost severity, 
we actually find him leaving his 
home on account of persecution. — 
Still he tried to please his Father, 
and suffered from him the severest 
treatment. One is surprised on 
reading his history to see how nobly 
he acted, under the most difficult 
circumstances, through that period 
of his life, up to the time that Prus- 
sia fell into his hands. Duringthat 

time he committed no one act that 
could tarnish his honor, and he pos- 
sessed all those social and moral 
qualities which are requisite to form 
the good man. 

Having now briefly considered 
the character of Frederick, during 
the early part of his lift, prior to 
the commencement of the Silesian 
wars, it is next in order to show 
the causes that operated to bring 
on those wars. The Emperor, 
Charles VI, of Austria, dispairing 
of ever having a successor to his 
throne, established in 1713, what 
was called The Pragmatic Sanction, 
by which the succession was to de- 
scend to his daughters or nearest 
relations, whether male or female, 
instead of, as before, to the males 
only. The approval of this law 
Charles endeavored to obtain from 
the neighboring Princes, by gifts 
and promises. Accordingly the pro- 
vince of Juliers was promised to 
Fred. William, then Prince of Prus- 
sia, provided he would support his 
last will and testament, by force of 
arms, if need be ; but on condition 
that the treaty should be null and 
void, if the House of Newberg, to 
which Juliers and Berg belonged, 
should, on its extinction be bequeath- 
ed that of Lulzbach. Instead of 
regarding this treaty, Charles im- 
mediately concluded another, by 
which he secured the possession of 
Juliers to Lulzback, and France, in 
virtue of her claims upon this House, 



accordingly undertook the guaran- 
tee against Prussia. This affords 
one instance of the deceitful and 
grasping disposition of Austria. — 
One would very naturally suppose 
that Fred. William would have de- 
clared war, on account of this sub- 
terfuge, arid neglect of his treaty; 
but he seems to have tacitly suffer- 
ed the imposition, nor do we find 
his successor, Frederick, the Great, 
ready to assert his claims in this 
quarter. And no one can deny that 
it is a fair proof in favor of the as- 
sertion that it was not his disposi- 
tion, under any pretext for a war, 
to grapple at more power ; but only 
to assert his claims, and endeavor to 
possess that to which he had indis- 
putable right, and that he did thus 
assert his claims to Silesia, we shall 
endeavor to show. 

In 1606, the Elector of Branden- 
burg assigned Jugerndorf, one of 
the Silesian principalities, only as 
a temperal appanage, again to re- 
vert to the house of Brandenburg. 
And when this son has been placed 
under the ban of the Empire, i. e. 
had been excluded from all the hon- 
ors of office, by Ferdinand 2nd, 
Austria gave the government of his 
duchy to the Princess, instead of. 
as she should have done, according 
to the terms, allowing it to return 
to the house of Brandenburg. 

The other principalities of Silesia, 
once independent sovereignties, had 

placed themselves under the supre- 
macy of Bohemia, keeping the right 
to dispose of their possessions, as 
it should please them. And, in the 
exercise of this right, they made 
a compact with Brandenburg, as- 
suring it the reversion of all their 
territories. But no sooner was the 
house, to which they belonged, ex- 
tinct, than Austria, as before, reach- 
ed forth her grasping hand and 
seized these principalities, alleging 
a war, which she was then carrying 
on, as a pretext for their extension 
since she had offered a sum Of money 
for them. But through policy, in- 
asmuch as she needed the aid of 
Prussia in her Avar against the Turks 
she granted to the great Elector a 
very small tract of territory as a 
compensation for the whole of Si- 
lesia. But this treaty was of no 
effect, for no sooner had it been 
concluded than the Austrian Em- 
bassador had induced the Elector 
to enter into a kind of engagement 
to restore this territory to Austria 
on the death of his Father, Fred. 
William. Having thus submitted so 
tamely to all the impositions of 
Austria, the great Elector, Frede- 
rick, the Great, could not help ex- 
pecting some compensation. He 
expected to receive a tract of coun- 
try, known under the name of 
Hither Pomerania; but when he 
was told that Austria would not al- 
low him to keep Pomerania, Fred. 
William, his father, gave up all, in- 



dignantly exclaiming — "an avenger 
will arise out of my ashes !" 

That noble avenger was Frede- 
rick, the Great. As soon as his fa- 
ther was dead, Austria demanded 
those territories, which Frederick, 
in a partial engagement, into which 
he had been forced, had promised 
to restore. But as Austria had so 
often deceived him, and moreover 
forced him into the engagement, he 
considered it a point of honor, as 
he says, not to give away those ter- 
ritories which his father had gained. 
He acted accordingly, and in doing 
•i so had to prepare for war ; but the 
i thought of a doubtful contest had 
i no terrors for him, since, as he says 
■i in his address to his soldiers, his 
< conscience told him that his cause 
was just. 

We have thus as truly and briefly 
1 as possible endeavored to show the 
inducements that/- Frederick had for 
' entering into a war; and we think 
it is plain that no blind zeal for 
conquest incited him in it. We 
fiave shown, in the brief outline of 
his character, that he was not easi- 
ly aroused by every little occurrence 
that might thwart his plans. That 
in like manner, previous to the war, 
he had suffered repeated injuries 
from Austria, until he was at last 
aroused to action. To such injuries 
what patriot, who ha j an eye to the 
prosperity of the soil upon which 
he lives, would not oppose some re- 
sistance ? No one who ever breath- 

ed the pure atmosphere of freedom, 
or felt that warm impulse, which 
every one should be proud of the 
love of his country, can reply in 
the negative. Frederick was atrue 
patriot, as is attested by that love 
which he ever manifested for his 
subjects and his country's welfare. 
It would -be useless to follow 
throughout his Silesia n Avars in 
which he began his bright career, 
and by his success, taught Europe 
his powerful system of military 
tactics — to point out the noble traits 
of character that he there exhibited. 
The justice of his career was man- 
ifested, in some degi*ee, by the joy 
with which the inhabitants hailed 
him as their rightful ruler. Was 
he victorious, then did his nobleness 
of soul show itself, in that human- 
ity which he exercised towards the 
conquered. Success attended his ef- 
forts, and under his guidance Prus- 
sia soon arose to a place among the 
nations of Europe. History must- 
do him justice, and the character of 
Frederick, the Great, be read and 
admired so long as man is civilized 
enough to appreciate it. 

'•' Yet what is wit, and what the poet's art ? 
Can genius shield the vulnerable heart? 
Ah no! where bright imagination reigns, 
The fine-wrought spirit feels aouter pains ; 
Where glow exalted sense and taste refin'd, 
There keener anguish rankles in the mind ; 
There feeling is diffused through every part, 
Thrills in each nerve, and lives in all the heart ; 
And those, whose generous souls each tear would keep 
From others' eyes, are born themselves to weep." 
Hannah Moore. 



Lln«* on the Death of a Favorite 

Bright Aurora woke, and peeping o'«r 

The eastern world, saw laughing Phoebus pour, 

'Hid clouds of gold, his beams of radiant light 

Athwart the firmament of stars. 
The pale moon saw and grew more white, 
While all the shadows of the sullen night, 

Yoking their aeriel cars, 
fled from the dimpled earth, and all was bright. 

Twas not the summer time of flowers and song, 

But winter, wild and drear, 
Upon the trees, the north wind, all daj long 

Harped to the new-born year. 

Old earth was crowned again ; 
But not with the green coronal of Spring 

That clothes the flow'ring glen 
When all the woods with sweetest music ring. 

It was the drifted sbow 

That diademed his brow, 
And might have been a type of death, so cold, 

So white and noiselessly it fell 
Upon his face ; like that pale flow'r of old 

The melancholy asphodel — 
They placed beside the sleeping, dreamless dead, 
To mimic sorrow with its pensive head. 

But not for thee, poor bird, doth nature mourn, 

(If mourn she mean by this her white array,) 
lor greater than thee fall, yet o'er their urn 

The sunbeams smile and sportive zephyrs play. 
Thou and they too are atoms cast aside 

From the dark streams that floweth evermore, 
Like those small shells left by the ebbing tide, 

Kmpty. wrecked and crushed upon the salt 
sea's shore. 

Yet not all unmourned nor unwept, for when 

The young dawn touched with wand of golden 
Thy sleeping mistress' lids, she waked in pain, 

To see such havoc done in one sad «sight. 
And, as rain falls to nourish flow'r and leaf, 

She, from the deep, sweet heaven of (her eyes, 
Did weep, that thus the pale flow'r of her grief, 

Night nurtured her with tears and Header sighs. 

Twere pity Mien to see her gentle head 

In sorrow bending o'er thy lifeless form, 
Sweet picture of sweet woe, while soft sighs sped 

From her young heart, 'mid tears as pure and 
Ah, envied bird ! who would not wish to die, 

To be thus mourned by so much loveliness ; 
Like thee, against that beating heart to lie ; 

Like thee, bewailsd by so much tenderness ? 
February 14, 1857. 



In the Bay near the mouth of the 
Pascagoola river, frequently just 
after twilight are heard sounds upon 
the water very much resembling, 
a far off, music. The real cause of 
this has never been ascertained, but 
tradition connects with it an Indian 
tale. I will relate the circumstances 
under which the legend was related 
to me. 

Where the clear and limpid river 
mingles with and sweetens the bit- 
ter waters of the Pascagoola bay, 
stands an old hotel, once the scene 
of gaiety and lashion, but now un- 
inhabited and falling rapidly to 
decay. When this old house was 
in its prime, and I a young man, I 
escaped from the prison-like walls | 
of a counting room in the city of ' 

M , to spend the hot and sultry | 

months of the Summer there. It 
was a few evenings after my arrival 
that the incident occurred which I 
am about to relate. 

I promenaded the gallery of the 
hotel, deeply alive to the tranquil 
scene before me. The sun had near- 
ly sank beneath the West and his 
mellowed rays spread upon the bo- 
som of the bay a carpet of light 
which seemed as burnished gold. — | 
A gentle breeze, not enough to rip 
pie the water, cooled the heated 
air, the sails of the fisher boat flap- 
ped idly against the mast, and the 



•ea gull croaked lazily as he circled 
slowly around in the blue vault 
above. Nature seemed steeped in 
a -dreamy langour of delicious re- 
pose. The scene was so soft and 
ao much in concordance with my 
own feelings that I unconsciously 
sank into a reverie from which I 
was aroused by an invitation to join 
a party to hear the music on the 
waters. Our boat bounded over 
Ithe glassy bay, bearing a party as 
gay and lively as the fish which 
sported beneath us. 
, " It is not time for the music to 
oegin yet," remarked one of our 
oarty, " and I think it would be a 
most agreeable pastime if some one 
(Would relate the story connected 
jivith the sounds which are nightly 
jaeard here." To this we all agreed 
(aid unanimously joined in request- 
ling the landlord's daughter (a fair 
i/oung girl of sixteen with bright 
jblue eyes and curly golden hair) to 
[Decome the narrator. After some 
flushing and resisting she threw 
jack the clustering curls from her 
#>row and commenced : — 
I " Long ago the slope upon which 
■ay father's house now stands was 
covered by a neat little village of 
■ihe Checoe Indians. From time 
immemorial these people had dwelt 
j-ipon this happy spot, governed by 
k wise old Sachem who studiously^ 
f aught them the blessings of peace. 
!<rhey had totally abstained from 
) ningling in the wars of their neigh- 

bors — they hunted, fished, and lived 
within themselves, forming a min- 
ature world of their own. But the 
brightest jewel of the village and 
the nucleus around which all their 
love and admiration clung was Hol- 
lula, the old chief's only daughter, 
with large dark eyes, bright, but 
yet as soft and melting as those of 
a gazelle ; teeth as white as the 
pearly shells of the beach ; long 
silken hair as black as a crow's 
wing. She indeed seemed moulded 
by the hand of the Great Spirit for 
some brighter and more holy sphero 
than this. The maidens for miles 
around, as they stood befoie the 
mirror-like brooks and decorated 
themselves with variegated shells 
and stained feathers, only wished 
to be as beautiful as Hollula; and 
the warrior, as he gazed upon tho 
moon and chanted his love ditties, 
only hoped that she would look 
upon his suit with favor. At the 
time of which I speak, the maturity 
of seventeen summers bloomed upon 
her cheek and beamed in her eye ; 
and yet, although her heart had 
been the shrine before which all the 
gay gallants of the village had burnt 
their incense, it had yet been un- 
touched by the flame of love. 

" Thus at seventeen, joyous as 
the dancing wave, beautiful as the 
angels who grace the throne of the 
great spirit, she was more fit to be 
worshiped than loved as a human 
being." A circumstance now oo- 



curred which changed the r current 
of the young girl's thoughts, and 
kindled m her breast that passion 
which had been unknown to her 
before. " One evening there came 
to the village a stranger, soiled and 
travel-worn. lie came, he said, 
from far away to the West, was the 
son of a chief of a once powerful 
tribe. But long wars and misfor- 
tunes had gradually dwindled them 
away until now his friends had been 
laid beneath the green grass of the 
Western prarie, and he was left the 
last of his race. The story of the 
young warrior, (whom we shall call 
Oceka,) told with deep feeling and 
aided by a fixed melancholy, which 
seemed to have settled on him, fail- 
ed not to fill the breast of Hollula 
with pity, Avhilst his manly bearing, 
handsome features, and bold glance 
soon changed this sentiment into 
the more absorbing one of love, and 
in a short time the stranger felt the 
same burning passion which glowed 
in the soul of Hollula. Ail now 
promised well — Oceka had been in 
the course of time adopted by the 
old Checoe chief, he loved Hollula, 
was beloved by her in return, and 
she had even in a short time con- 
sented to become his bride. I say 
all promised well ; but suddenly 
there appeared a dark spot upon 
this picture of happiness. Among 
the former suitors for the hand of 
Hollula was Okano, a young Indian, 
who, although he had pressed his 

suit with steady assiduity, had met 
with an unyielding refusal. Lately, 
however, his conduct had changed; 
his eyes which once had only shone 
with the soft light of love,- now 
blazed with that most bitter of all 
passions, hatred for a successful 
rival. He saw that which from 
earliest youth he had striven to ob- 
tain,. given to another ; and the only 
prize which could have rendered 
his life happy, taken from/him. — 
The most cherished flowers of his 
life had been blighted, the day 
dream of his youth was dissipated, 
life had no longer any joys in store 
for him, so he turned away from 
contemplations which had once been 
sweet and sought consolation from 
that source which has always been 
the Indians last resort, revenge — 
revenge on her who had rejected 
the deai*est offering of his heart, 
and on him who had blotted forever 
from his soul the sunlight of hope. 
The curse of the broken hearted 
Indian was launched against them, 
and his undying malediction hung 
over them — -revenge was declared 
and it proved the death knell of the 
devoted lovers. Time passed and 
the marriage of Hollula and Oceka 
drew near, one week more and their 
nuptials were to be celebrated. — 
Alas ! that event was destined never 
to happen — the oath of Okano had; 
*been taken and most fearfully he 
kept it. 

" Hollula and her lover were ac- 



:ustomed on moonlight nights to 
valk upon the banks of the Pasca- 
joola and gazing into its bosom to 
latter themselves that the bright 
tars which twinkled so gaily were 
ypical of their own future destiny. 
t was during one of these favorite 
/alks that the lovers stopped upon 
bluff overhanging the river — the 
ext day tbey were to be united, 
illed with the happiness of the 
resent and bright anticipations for 
le future, they were too wrapped 
p in their own thoughts to hear 
le slight rustle of the leaves and 
otice the dark form which rose 
:om the ground behind them. 

r It was Okano. The whizzing 
1 an arrow warned them too late 
f their danger, and the scream of 
nguish which burst from the lips 
I Iiollula as'she fell into the srarP'- 
ug water below, pierced through 
ie heart by the fatal arrow, was 
le dirge of a departed spirit and 
broken heart. Oceka a;azed a few 
lOments into the blood tinged riv- 
| then turned with an imprecation 
I vengeance to where he supposed 
ae murderer stood; but naught met 
'; : .s gaze. A rushing through the 
ashes far off in the moonlight told 
1m that Okano had fled. He walk- 
i cpiickly to the village, told his 
m of sorrow and in a few mo- 
Vents the bank of the river was 
•owded with griei-stricken Indians 
ournfully gazing on the spot 
3 here she on whom ' they had all 

so fondly doated had disappeared. 
They had remained but a short time 
when Hollula appeared upon the 
surface seated in a spectral canoe, 
and as she did so there came from 
her lips a melodious strain calling 
upon her lover to join her. Oceka 
chanted a death song and waving 
a farewell to his friends plunged 
into the sparkling water. Almost 
immediately he was seen seated by 
the side of Hollula, and as the canoe 
sped rapidly from the sight of the 
wondering Indians there was borne 
back upon the breeze the voices of 
the lovers uniting in sweet and tri- 
umphal music. Little remains to 
be told. The old chief deprived of 
the solace of his beautiful daughter 
in a few days sank into the grave, 
while the tribe deprived of his sage 
counsel moved to the West where 
they soon mouldered away. Okano 
was never again heard of; but the 
Indian lovers still in spirit linger 
around the spot they loved so well 
in life, and the music we hear night- 
ly in this place (the legend says) is 
the singing of Hollula and Oceka. 
The time has now arrived for the 
sounds to begin, hark ! Listen." — 
And as the fair speaker ceased there 
came across the waters music so 
divine and beautiful that it seemed 
"more of heaven than earth." — 
First it came stealing softly over 
the bay like the sound of a distant 
lute, then louder, fuller and more 
ravishingly grand, and again dying 


away as- gradually as it came, for 
half an, hour the strains continued, 
now fainter and more distinct, stil! 
possessing throughout that rich and 
celestial tone which made it appear- 
as if a choir of angels had settled) 
upon the water to regale the earth 
with the music ©f a purer world. 

Finally the sounds ceased entire- 
ly and we returned* to> the hotel im- 
pressed with the romance of the 
ad /enture.. 


Ascending, a high hill, two miles 
further, the venerabfe mound frown- 
ed full in ©ur view. It was now 
nearly ten. o'clock and- the sun wa* 
pouring down upon our heads his 
hottest beams; but buoyed up with 
the hope ©£ soon arriving at Pilot 
we proceeded still further. Three 
miles from the destined place of 
rest Mr. A„ who had never before 
shown any signs of weariness, drop- 
ped down, upon the road side in a 
scanty shade declaring that he was 
completely exhausted and would 
not walk another yard for a dollar. 
He had muttered only a few words 
when he fell asleep. The wagon 
halted only a short distance further 
on,and after a short nap Mr. A. was 
enabled to come up at the proper 
time to get his dinner — and he ate 
like starvation rather than exercise 
had been the cause of his exhaus 


The near prospect of the moun- 
tain had a different effect on the* 
mind of Mr. S. Contrary to his. 
custom he walked with great alac- 
rity. From the second day ' s travel! 
to the present time he feigned a de- 
sire to return to C&apel Hill. — 
Many a tiime as he tQiited up a steep- 
hill in the warm sun did he sign, 
for the Soda water and pleasant 
shades of the University. But now 
uncaring for the labor of walking 
he seemed enthused with the pros- 
pect of mountain scenery. 

At dinner Mr. T. TV., treasurer; 
whose vigilant eye is ever fixed on? 
the public economy offered an ob- 
jection to the use of molasses.: — 
" The gentlemen," said he, " do not 
eat what they pour out, and by this- 
means a great deal is wasted. They 
pour out half a dozen andieat three/' 

About three in the evening we 
started again. Emerging from a 
vale we appeared on an elevation 
reaching to the base of the moun- 
tain by a succession of halls closely 
joined, but on which we were neve 
out of sight of Pilot. 

The sky was overcast with cloudfr 
and as they wrapped up the breast 
of the mountain while its head 
emerged above, an air of great ma- 
jesty appeared to belong to it. It 
reminded one of Goldsmith's lines : 

" Aa some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the Tale and midwaj leaves- the storm, 
Though round, its bmeast the rolling clouds ar« spr 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

The road took a circuitous rout 




and as we- tramped around, with 
the mountain on our side, we ap- 
peared to> approach it with fear and 
ven eration. A f e eling of reverence 
could not fail to come over every 
ione, as if he were treading around 
i some vast monumental pile. 

It reminded me forcibly of the 
>way by which the Mahometans ap- 
proach the Caaba, their holy tem> 
ple. Seven times they compass iit 
i'with trembling foot, and as often 
bow reverently and kiiss the earth, 
coming near- the object of their 
idolatry at every revolution. We 
tarrived at length, after climbing 
many steep and rocky hills within 
the last hour, over which our gal- 
lant grays nobly drew the wagon. 
Bill B., now and then giving them 
a little rest by ' scotching the wheels,' 
as he calls it. Thus, I say, we ar- 
rived at length at Gillam's tavern, 
one mile from the base of the moun- 
tain. Learning from him that a 
fine Spring was situated by the 
roadside at the foot of Pilot, we 
iproceeded thither after a short stay 
at Mr. Gillams to allow one of our 
company to buy a quart of his stock 
of provisions which he keeps on 

We soon arrived at the Spring ; 
but it was not till we passed over 
many rocks by a road which seem- 
ed very seldom traveled over by 

Having pitched our tent in as 
j good a place as we could find, which 

was rather a bad one, some began 
to chat, some to sleep, and four (my- 
self included,) to ascend the moun- 

In about an hour after laborious 
walking, and resting several times, 
we found ourselves on the pinnacle 
of this great natural curiosity of 
North Carolina. 

The ascent of this mountain is 
unuiually steep, and the pinnacle 
is a solid rock of granite shooting 
perpendicularly upward for at least 
150 feet, whose sides and! top have 
been rent and scathed in many 
places by Mghtning. 

From, the top a beautiful, but not 
grand scenery presents- itself. As 
far as the eye couM reach even 
and unbroken surface of motionless 
trees was spread ouis, looking like 
small undergrowth, except where 
the Blue Bidge, far in the West, 
raised its bristled back above the 
horizon, and stretched almost in a 
semi-circle from the West of North 
Carolina to the North-east of Vir- 
ginia. On the east, within six or 
seven miles of us, Sauratown moun- 
tain bore on its lofty sides a forest 
of pines. Turning the eye west- 
ward there might still be seen dark 
clouds with broken sides lowering 
on the horizon, looking like melan- 
choly afloat, and ever and anon the 
lightning would flash through its 
bosom like a bright sentiment in 
the mind of a melancholy poet. — 
The blackness and thickness of the 


clouds grew less and less until they 
were nothing more than floating 
vapours, and as the "glorious thing 
of day " stooped to the western 
hills they have tinged with his 
brightness until the whole western 
horizon blushed like it had been 
paved with the cheeks of maidens, 
or wedding night-brides. But now 

" Eve's dewy fingers drew 
The gradual dusky veil," 

and as we had to descend several 
ladders before we could reach the 
foot of the pinacle, we deemed it 
necessary to start before dark. "We 
found it nearly as difficult to des- 
cend as to ascend Pilot Mountain. 

"When we reached the camp we 
discovered Mr. H. leaning with in- 
tense interest over the fire where 
Bill P. was just giving the entrema 
mana to our nocturnal meal, with 
an extended plate in one hand and 
a tin cup in the other. Opposite 
him, and on the other side of the 
fire, several others were in a similar 
posture, and a few moments after 
1 our arrival the onset was given. — 
Bo not delude yourself, for you 
must not imagine because you are a 
lover of nature that a word had 
been asked us concerning the pros- 
pect from Pilot Mountain before 
the supper was entirely consumed, 
and Mr. H. having searched the 
oven for another biscuit wisely con- 
cluded on finding it empty that he 
jhad eaten enough. 

It was after the animal nature 


had been gratified by the mountain 
rangers that the finer feelings be- 
gan to take wing as we were all 
esconced in our tent, illumined feeb- 
ly by a bad light from a lantern 
that t'ie inquiry was made of the 
scenery we had beheld and the cu- 
riosities inspected on the mountain. 
It was not tilh then that Mr. "W. 
dealt in many and strong adjectives 
when the poetry gushed from his 
soul in a description of the Blue 
Ridge, of the Yadkin winding its 
serpentine course near, of the crow n- 
ing stone of the mount an acre and 
a half in area on the top and 150 
or 200 feet high, of the big blossoms 
hanging like sick and blushing lov- 
ers on the hoary monarch's bosom, 
and finally of the tremendous cavi- 
ty at the foot of the pinacle which 
no one has dared deeply to pene- 
trate. And here the wondrous tale 
went round of the legends concern- 
ing this same cavity. One said he 
heard that a gun and a riflle had 
been found forty feet within it in 
olden time ; another that a boy had 
attempted to carry a candle far 
within it, but the sulphurous breath 
of some green eyed monster ex- 
tinguished it, and he was obliged 
to return ; and yet another related 
that far back in the annals of time 
a man, who attempted to penetrate 
it, had been pursued out by hissing 
serpents of enormous size. More 
wondrous things had been seen 
therein than ever beheld by Aladin 



"by the light of his magic lamp when 
he went down into the ground in 
obedience to the great magician of 
Africa. For myself I never went 
into the cave. Ever since I have 
read — when quite a boy and beard- 
less then — of Eobinson Crusoe's ad- 
venture in the cave with a sick goat 
I have had a great aversion to un- 
dertake any such subterranean ex- 
pedition. ' 




" The child is father of the man, 
And I could wish my days to ho 
Bound each to each hy natural piety." 


The childhood shows the man, 
As morning shows the day. 


The College career of many of us 
•is fast drawing to a close — the goal 
for which we have sighed and pant- 
ed ever since we first, with primer 
in hand, were started from home, 
and our play to undergo the drudg- 
ery of school is almost in sight ; and 
it becomes us as rational men, in 
looking to the future and picturing 
to ourselves a glorious career of 
distinctions and proud emolument, 
(for what young man is there, who 
does not, on entering upon real 
life, indulge in such flattering day 
dreams?) to calmly consider our 
qualifications, and in making a 
choice of profession dispassionately 
weigh our abilities with the require- 
ments of the profession we think 

to adopt. And we deem it not an 
unfit time to offer a few remarks 
upon a subject, which ought to be 
and we dare say is, engaging the 
thoughts of many of our readers ; 
and we hope it will not be thought 
presumption in us, for it is a subject 
upon which we have thought deep- 
ly, and we may succeed in offering- 
some new thoughts to a part at 
least of those to whom it is of so 
vast importance ; and we shall con- 
sider ourselves as amply repaid, if 
we be so iortunate as to lead even 
one to think at all before deciding 
upon an occupation for life, which 
is to make or mar his fortune. 

College is but a mental gymna- 
sium, training us to enter upon the 
broad arena of life to struggle for 
eminence, and many of us for sub- 
sistence ; and as in tbe contests of 
the ancient Athletae, the one of su- 
perior training came off victorious, 
so with the struggle in life — he, 
who has made the best use of those 
talents which God has given him, 
and to whose well-trained mind no 
obstacle will be insurmountable, 
bears off the palm of victory from 
all competitors. All our life hith- 
erto has been but a term of proba- 
tion, fitting us for the sterner real- 
ities of life ; and just as what we 
have been pleased to call our trials 
are coming to an end, and we are 
congratulating ourselves upon the 
accomplishment of the great end 
of our existence, the finishing of 



our education, we mortifyingly find 
that we have not yet reached the 
first milestone in the journey of life, 
and that the education we consider 
as finished is scarcely begun, and 
our boasted store of knowledge and 
vast learning but a drop in the 
bucket in comparison with what 
we must have, before we be consid- 
ered learned men by any one than 
ourselves, peculiarly fortunate are 
we, if we are so far advanced as to 
know we know nothing. 

Heretofore we have been striving 
with minds as young and untrained 
as our own— minds that have ad- 
vanced step by step with us through 
all the gradations of a schoolboy's 
life; and upon entering the world 
we are apt to imagine in our self- 
complacency that we shall ride over 
the course with the same ease as be- 
fore; but this is a great mi stake, and 
if we would save us bitter dis appoint- 
ments, we must divest ourselves of 
this thought immediately. We shall 
meet in the conflict hand to hand 
men of age and experience, Avho 
have been tried in the scales of pub- 
lic opinion and not found wanting 
— men of vast learning and gigan- 
tic intellects. No, stripling that you 
are, you cannot hope to excel these, 
and you will pale before them like 
the stars before the noonday sun, 
and mortifying as the conviction is, 
you will, no matter how proud your 
position may be in College, like a 
drop of water in the ocean be sunk 

in its waves not even rippling the 

" The proper study of mankind 
is man," an das an initiatory step we 
must study ourselves. 

" Acquaint thee with thyself, Oman! so sh alt thou 

be humble ; 
* * * * if. * * 

But if thou lack that wisdom, thy frail skiff is doomed, 
On stronger eddy whirling to the dreadful gorge ; 
Untaught in that grand lore — thou standest, cased in 

To dare with mocking unbelief the thunderbolts oi 


Know thyself and you will have 
more than half accomplished thy 
career ; consider calmly and dispas 
sionately the capability of your 
own mind ; listen needfully to the 
voice of nature, which cries aloud 
in you and be guided in the choice 
of your profession by its pleadings. 
God has given us dissimilar minds 
for dissimilar pursuits, and implant 
ed in us all dispositions and inclina 
tions for peculiar ways of life. And 
if we would be content and succeed 
in the world, let us not do violence 
to those inclinations bj T following a 
calling for which in the end we will 
find ourselves utterly disqualified 
and which is extremely distasteful 
Young men in making a selection 
are so apt to think that they add 
to their own importance and res 
pectability by their profession, that 
they prefer to be third rate in one 
of the learned professions to being 
first in some what they are pleased 
to call less respectable, forgetting 
that a man in this land of equality 
must owe his position and fame to 



his own intrinsic merits and to no 
adventitious circumstance of birth 
or profession. Eor this reason we 
see all the learned professions, by 
which they mean Law and Physic, 
are crowded to overflowing all the 
time ; every class that is turned out 
from the walls of all the Colleges 
sends its very large quota of would- 
be-lawyers and doctors, and inva- 
riably among these, men notorious 
not for their great genius and stu- 
pendous .intellects, oh! no, rather 
the reverse, those very men, whom 
no one of their acquaintances ever 
accused of conceiving an idea; and 
yet it is very fortunate that such is 
the case, for were it otherwise, and 
litigation and disease twice as fre- 
quent they would not afford even a 
sustenance to any, so greatly are 
they both filled. Should they, be- 
fore making a choice, follow the 
course which we have attempted to 
mark out, this would not be — they 
would reflect upon their own in- 
clinations, and not be liable to find 
their choice distasteful and having 
made a trial of their abilities, they 
would not undertake what their in- 
tellects would not warrant. 

We are aware that well as this 
sounds in theory, it would prove 
somewhat difficult in practice, and 
that it would be almost impossible 
for one to arrive at a just estimate 
of his own qualifications, for wrap- 
ping ourselves in our self-conceit 
we are loath to think ourselves in- 

cable of undertaking any task her- 
culean though it be, and we are 
apt, poor fools that we are, to con- 
fidently exclaim " what man has 
done, man can do again ;" so with- 
out bestowing a second thought 
upon the subject, we enroll our- 
selvas upon the list of the profes- 
sion, and after years of expectation 
and disappointment, curse ourselves 
for our haste and folly. We find 
we have mistaken our calling • but 
too proud to acknowledge orr error 
to the world 'til we have wasted 
the most glorious part of our life, 
our early manhood, we cling to it 
until, with hearts sickened by hope 
deferred, we are forced by the ne- 
cessity of living to resort to some- 
thing else. 

Law stands first in respectability 
in the eyes of the young man, and 
consequently the greater number 
must choose that ; and the profes- 
sion of Marshall Story and the glo- 
rious Clay is made but an instru- 
ment to add to the pretensions of 
those young men who have not 
brains enough to elevate themselves 
as high as their ambition would de- 
sire. Medicine stands next in the 
list and receives its share of vota- 
ries, many of whom without being 
ableto understand a simpleproblem 
in Euclid, profess to have compre- 
hended the wondrous mechanism 
of the human frame, waded through 
the iutricacies of the Materia Medica, 
and with a recklessness truly won- 



derful, and an ignorance not as- 
tonishing guess at the nature of the 
disease of their patients, adminis- 
ter poison for aught they know and 
.consider themselves peculiarly for- 
tunate if they do not kill. Occas- 
ionally in this age of expediency 
some young man despairing of for- 
tune or fame, with, as he thinks, 
wonderful self-denial devotes him- 
self to the service of his God, and 
having secured his living thinks he 
discharges his immense obligation 
to Him, if he but preach one or two 
sermons on Sunday — " verily he 
shall have his reward." Next comes 
Teaching ; and for this important 
occupation few are left, and he who 
is to teach the youth of the land, 
the country's hope, wanting in 
morals and in mind, like the ancient 
Italian schoolmaster only lacks the 
opportunity of betraying his charge, 
and like him deserves the castiga- 
tions which he inflicts upon his pu- 
pils. ; Tis needless to pursue the 
subject farther — enough has been 
said, had it been well said, to show 
us all the importance of adapting 
our profession to our ability and in- 
clination. We all know what each 
profession requires and we can eas- 
ily know to which one our talents 
are best suited, and that one it is 
our policy to pursue. 

O i m Magazine. — Ae;ain and again 
have we appealed to the people of 
North Carolina in behalf of our 

Magazine; but hitherto, we are 
ashamed to add without effect j but 
we had hoped, that now when a 
more liberal policy was evidently 
awaked in the State by the magic 
influence of railroads, tbat they 
would heartily respond to -our call, 
and aroused from their normal state 
of old fogyism they would shake 
off all vestige of Eip Yan "Winkle, 
and prove to the world that they 
no longer deserved the reproaches 
which their enemies had heaped 
upon them. We are sorry that we 
should be forced to call their atten- 
tion to things so unimportant as 
money affairs, and that we can't 
display the same indifference to the 
world's idol as Launcelot Lang- 
staffe, Esq., and say that we don't 
solicit your patronage ; but unfor- 
tunately for us in this iron age of 
the world there is a common preju- 
dice afloat that a man musl live/ 
and in order to have the sustenance 
of life he must have money, and so 
our printer, ingrate that he is, re- 
fuses to publish for us unless we 
give him money ! — did you ever 
hear anything so monstrous ? — and 
just when we are preparing our- 
selves for a soar into the realms of 
fancy and have succeeded in divest- 
ing ourselves of all concern for 
things terrestial, in he pops with 
his woeful visage and with his eter- 
nal cry for money, rudely dissipates 
our fancies, pulls us down to the 
\ earth again, until in the bitternee 



of our hearts we are apt to throw 
ourselves into a theatrial attitude 
and. exclaim most heart-rendingly 
of course, " Oh, money . thou art 
indeed the root of all evil/' and 
sigh for the good old time of the 
golden age, when Saturn reigned 
supreme, and bread and meat grew 
upon every tree and wherever else 
it was convenient, long before the 
distinctions between meum and 
tuum were drawn, and the fiat " by 
the sweat of thy brow shalt thou 
eat thy bread " had gone forth. To 
meet this demand of our printer we 
must throw ourselves upon your lib- 
erality ; by the exercise of a little 
benevolence you will place the Mag- 
azine upon a firm footing. And 
will any one refuse ? For seven 
years has our Magazine battled man- 
fully for subsistence, and now from 
a bantling it has grown into a full 
sized youth, and with thy fostering 
care would soon become a vigorous 
full grown man. So far it has got 
well through all the ills that baby- 
hood is heir to, and should it recover 
from this attack we predict for it a 
glorious future. In the morn of its 
life, with a subscription list of five 
lor six hundred, and its expenses 
only between eight and nine hun- 
dred dollars, it bid fair to win glo- 
rious success ; but in the course of 
time the subscribers fell into arrears, 
they were slow in paying, and some 
did'nt pay at all, and the Magazine 
fell into debt and its credit was im- 
paired ; for several years it strug- 
gled hard to free itself; and at last 
had to compromise with its publisher 
by surrendering to him its subscrip- 
tion list and all that was due upon 
it. It then became convenient to 
change its publisher; but the new 
one, taking lesson from the other's 
experience stipulated for payment 
in advance, to meet this we were' 

compelled to demand payment in 
advance, and our list dwindled 

"We would not inflict upon our 
readers a history of all our suffer- 
ings if we did not hope that, moved 
by them, they might be influenced 
to lend a helping hand. We don't 
claim for our Magazine a place by 
the side of Harper or any of the 
first Magazines of the day — we are 
not guilty of such presumption — it 
would be almost a miracle that 
would enable us to compete with 
them, that we, young men, none of 
us scarcely twenty-one years old, 
without experience, without pecu- 
niary means, should produce a peri- 
odical, which should vie with those 
under the direction of men of years 
and standing, and who, with a pat- 
ronage of scores of thousands to our 
hundreds can command the contribu- 
tions of the first writers of the age, 
while we must beg them, would be 
a wonder deserving of the first place 
in the catalogue of wonders. But 
we do claim for it, and we do it 
without conceit that it compares 
favorably with all those issued un- 
der like circumstances, and that it 
contains articles written by the first 
men in the State in point of litera- 
ry reputation, which would not dis- 
grace the Edinburgh or Westmin- 
ister Eeviews themselves ; and as 
long as we receive the commenda- 
tion of men of standing, which we 
have done, we shall not concern 
ourselves about the carping of those 
genuises of College, who, in the 
mightiness of their conceit, fancy 
themselves qualified to criticise the 
writings of Shakspeare, Coleridge, 
or Irving ; but who, if the College 
file of reports were examined would 
be found to have been disapproved 
at least twice during their course 
on Composition y these, we are de- 


lighted to say, are the only ones by 
whom we are condemned, and that 
too, frequently without being read. 
Placing, then, the condemnation of 
these over against the commenda- 
tion of men, who have attained po- 
sitions in the world, which none of 
us may hope to reach, we do not 
feel discouraged, and we call upon 
all North Carolinians, who love 
and take pride in their State to help 
us to wipe off the reproach which 
has been urged against us that we 
have no State literature, to aid us 
hj their money and their pens in 
building up a Magazine which shall 
reflect credit upon the State — we 
call upon parents and we ask them 
if they would give their sons the 
opportunity of acquiring elegance 
; of style in writing, and would make 
them men, to aid our Magazine, 
which was established for that'pur- 
pose, and as a safety valverfor their 
superabundant wit and humor. 

In the Fisheries in the Eastern por- 
tion of this State all those, who en- 
gage largely in the business, after 
the fishing season sets in, and their 
hands are employed, and all other 
necessary preparations made, have 
to keep constantly at work, Sun- 
day not excepted, or else lose mon- 
ey. In a certain portion of that 
region there was an old clergyman 
who, together with the greater part 
of his parish, engaged in the busi- 
ness, and so much of his attention 
did it require that he was neglect- 
ing the spiritual affairs of himself 
and congregation for his temporal. 
One Sunday, to the indignation dire 
of the preacher and his congrega- 
tion, the following epigram appear- 
ed upon the church door, written 
by some wag, which we think has 
$ever been in print ; and which for 

impromptu wit is as good as any- 
thing we ever saw of the kind :- 

" A broken clown church, 
A half built steeple, 
A herring catching parson, 
And a Hell going people." 

Chateau en Espagne. — 'Twas 
Commencement day and the Chapel 
was filled with a brilliant array of 
beauty, talent and fashion. The 
Band was playing a beautiful piece 
from the opera of Don Giovanni ; 
but for music I had no ear then, but 
the beating of my heart kept time 
to it, for when it should cease ] 
would be called upon to speak. — 
With every note my heart grev, 
fainter and, like Bob. Acres, I could 
feel my courage oozing out at nry 
fingers ; the music stopped, anc 
with one long breath, as if I wouk 
drink in courage with the air I in 
haled, I heard the announcemen 
of my name by the President, anc 
with trembling knees mounted th< 
rostrum and made my bow, the ver\ 
aw T kwardness of which brought th 
blood to my cheeks, which befor 
werepale w T ith excitement and adde< 
to myembarrassment, (those deuce< 
gowns prevent the display of s 
much grace.) In vain do I try t 
recover my composure — my tongu 
cleaves to my mouth and refuses t 
give utterance to my thought: 
when in my embarrassment I ei 
counter the anxious gaze of a beau 
tiful pair of soft brown eyes ; th 
effect was electrical, the blood race 
through my veins ; I recovei m 
composure; my tongue is loosenec 
and the words pour from my lij 
in one continuous strain till m 
speech is done, and amidst the thui 
ders of applause and the smiles ( 
approval from the President an 1 
the other dignitaries of the land b 
whom I am surrounded, I withdraw 
conscious of nothing but one brigl 




caught as I 

approving smile 
made my bow. 

Then comes the last grand, which 
closes the " drama of the day," and 
again I mount the rostrum, and 
: ; with a graceful bow, receive " Hoc 
Diploma," and in my elation can 
'scarcely restrain my joy, for I am 
free — free as the . air breathe from 
the restraint of College laws— no 
dull routine of duties to go through. 
BjPis true, there was a tinge of re- 
gret with this joy, for I had formed i 
many pleasant acquaintances, inti- 
-mate friendships, these I regretted 
Bb sunder; and besides, for four Ion a- 
Bears had I lingered in these classic 
shades, and almost every foot of 
ground was surrounded with a halo 
,jof pleasant memories. But, shall 
K'tell it ? — there was another rea- 
son for my elation, the only obstacle' 
between me and that beautiful mai- 
den before mentioned I had sur- 1 
•mounted. Years ago, when we had ! 
plighted vows and exchanged rine-s 

my spirit was hovering between 
life and death from a dangerous ill- 
ness, she had lured it back to life 
again byher love and tender care ; 
and for nours have I lain and 
watched her as she flitted about my 
room engaged in her labor of love 
and would sigh as she turned to 
brush away the tears, which would 
come in spite of her, when she 
thought that after all the object of 
her heart's devotion might die and 
she be left alone, and 1 would thank 
God for blessing me with such a 
wife, and would fold her to my 
heart and whisper to her that an 
I eternity of heart's idolatry would 
not repay her for her love. 

The scene changes. I am an old 
man now, with one foot in the grave 
and but a frail tenure upon life. I 
am alone in my old age. " The 
Lord gave and the Lord has taken 
away " my wife from me ; for many 
years we had journeyed together ; 
but at, last there was need for her 

Be had arranged. that one monlh in Heaven amoig &SSTJS. 

^er my graduation. she should be am left alone. What arf weafth 
mn c— wholly mine m the eyes of and fame to me now ? There was 
>ed, beauti- a time when I took pleasiireTn such 

fnl wife. Is it strange, then, that 
Ishould be elated ? Is it not rath- 
er the wonder that one poor brain 
ftould sustain such a deluge of bliss ? 
|?'A change came o'er the spirit of 
my dream." Years had rolled on,ancl 
Wis angel of love and beauty had 
come to linger at my side, strewing 
my path along the journey of life 
With flowers, and bringing sunshine 
and gladness to my heart. I had 
gained wealth and distinction ; and 
pen, when, after a day of labor, I 
Would return to my home, fatigued 
in body and mind, she had greeted 
B with a smile of welcome, and 
with my head pillowed on her breast 
would soothe its aching with her 
gentle caresses; and once ; too, when 

things, when it was the ambition of 
my heart to figure conspicuously in 
the Canals of my country's history 
that I should be known and blessed 
by every one as a good patriot and 
statesman. But those days are gone 
| by; the fires of my heart are burnt 
out and there is nothing left but 
ashes signifying desolation, and I 
am eagerly awaiting my summons 
to the other world, where I shall 
meet my wife. I have outlived my 
affections ; I have laid up treasure 
not on earth, where moth and rust 
doth corrupt, but in Heaven ; " for 
where your treasure is, there shall 
your heart be." 

College Items are scarce. JSToth- 



ing ever occurs to disturb the tran 
.quility or break the monotony of 
our College life, except^-now and 
then some unfortunate wight influ- 
enced by the centrifugal force of ar- 
dent spirits to "ring the bell," 
"stamp in the Chapel," "barn 
blackboards" or otherwise " devil 
the Faculty," flies otfat a tangent, 
rusticates several weeks and peace 
is restored, and all goes « merry as 
the marriage belL" 

Hon. Edward Everett. — About 
a year and a half ago, when all the 
land was ringing with the praise of 
• Mr. Everett and his Washington 
Oration, the Trustees and Students 
of the University saw fit to invite 
him to repeat his oration here at 
our approaching Commencement. 
Unable to come at Commencement 
he replied that he would visit us in 
the Fall should his other engage- 
ments permit. But as he was pre- 
vented from coming then, the So- 
cieties have invited him again this 
Fall, which invitation he has accep- 
ted. The exact time of his coming 
we do not know j but as soon as it 
is ascertained we shall make it 
known, and we hope all North Car- 
olina will turn out to do honor to 
the great orator and statesman. 
The question is frequently asked us 
by our Chapel Hill subscribers why 
we don't place the Magazine in the 
P. O. for distribution ? We take 
this occasion to reply that upon is- 
suing the first number of this vol- 
ume we requested the Post Master 
to let us do so, which he refused, 
assuring us that it was in direct vio- 
lation of the laws of the Depart- 
ment. Consequently we made the 
best arrangement that occurred to 
ns — we had a box placed at the 
Gazette office for them, and we hope 
no one will think it too much trou- 

ble to call there for their number, 
for if left there they will be in the 

The Beading Eoom, we are sorry 
to say, we found it impossible to re- 
establish. We had no assurance 
that it would be bettor preserved 
under our administration than un- 
der that of our predecessors, and 
we were unwilling to undergo the 
expense, and no one reap benefit 
therefrom. To those who would 
wish to see the papers we would 
simply say that they will find the 
Eastern papers in Mr. Wright's 
room, (Dr. Moore's office,) and the 
Western in Mr. Lord's, (31, S. B.) 

Our College Exchanges — what 
has become of them ? At the first 
of the session we were not surpris 
ed at their not coming, knowing 
that it was vacation at most of the 
Colleges. But now that the sessioi 
has begun at all, we must ask whal 
has become of them ? We hop 
they are not in trouble. 

The William's Quarterly, th< 
Young Men's Magazine, The Geor 
gia University, Georgetown (Ky 
College, and Kenyon Collegian ar 
all that we have received. 

Our thanks are due the Committe 
of Arrangements for their kind in 
vitation to attend the second ann 
niversary of the Orange Guards, o 
the 27th ult. 


On Thursday, 3rd of Nov., in TVarrenton, John 
Hawkins, of Mississippi, to Miss Sallie Falkener. 

We must congratulate our frien 
John upon his early transition, ai 
with no disrespect to the literati 
the land, express our convictic 
that he is in better business thanl 
he were poring over dull m 





1. Who Commanded at Moore's Creek Bridge ?..... 137 

2. The Minstrel's Curse* 153 

3. Zibes at the Ball, 154 

4. Bcverie of a Senior, ...158 

5. The Turk's Bride, A Tale ;.-167 

0. Frederick the Great, 171 

7. Lines on the Death of a Eavorite Mocking Bird, 178 

8. Legend of the Musical Waters, 178 

9. Extracts from, a Journal, 182 

10. Editorial Table,.. 185 

The Magazine is published about the tenth of every 
month except January and July. 

Terms 12 per annum, invariably in Advance. Any 
person sending us five new subscribers and ten dollars, 
will receive a copy gratis. 

Address Editors of the University Magazine, Chapel 
Hill, N. C. 

^>^Wr^.«^ t^&h^&g^ 

VOL Til. 

No S. 





, 185?. 



V.t'A . * 


* * 

\ * 

V 'A v * 



E. S. BELL, 


W. C. LORD, 




DECEMBER, 1857. 

NO. 5 


The Fayetteville Observer of the 
12th ult., fills one of its broad 
columns with an account of " The 
Tory Massacre " by Ei chard Ever- 
ett, which seems to call for some 
notice at our hands. 

The writer opens with the' remark 
that two months ago he made a 
tour of the Southern States, " and 
tarried a while at the little village 
bf Hillsborough," "a short dis- 
tance " from which " iii his memor- 
able retreat across North Carolina 
in February, 1781, the ragged but 
gallant army of General Greene 
forded the river Haw/' " Not far 
from Hillsborough w r e were shown 

the scene of a terrible massacre of 
tories by the troopers of Lee's Le- 
gion." Hillsborough, our readers 
need scarcely be informed, is on the 
river Eno, in the County of Orange, 
not nearer than eighteen miles to 
the ford of Haw river, crossed by 
Pickens and Lee in pursuit of Tarl- 
ton. General Greene, in his rapid 
retreat, did not cross the river at 
all; The scene of Pyle's discomfit- 
ure is in the vicinity of Graham, 
in the County of Alamance, distant 
some twenty-five miles from Hills- 
borough. •■ :» 
The writer is not more precise 
and accurate, in the statement of the 



-number and character of the Amer- 
ican forces who participated in the 
combat than in his designation of 
the battlefield. " As a preliminary 
step to the movement of the whole 
army, Greene sent Col. Henry Lee 
with his legion of" cavalry, and two 
companies of Maryland militia to 
haa?rass the British force, and dis- 
perse- the bands of tories which 
were organizing throughout the 

" Col. Lee had formed a squadron 
of cavalry, uniformed and armed 
precisely after the fashion of Tarl- 
ton's celebrated corps, and no man 
in the American service was more 
dreaded by the foe than Legion 

Mr. Everett having thus stated 
the number and character of our 
forces, proceeds with an interesting 
but not very accurate account of 
the circumstances under which the 
tories were entrapped and vanquish- 
ed. There is no intimation, how- 
over, that General Pickens, at the 
head of thirty or forty gallant men 
from Georgia and South Carolina, 
and more than six hundred militia 
from Mecklenburg and Eo wan were 
present and. quite as conspicuous in 
the fray as the Virginia troops. 

AccidentalvGircumstances to which 
we feel at liberty to refer, in con- 
nection with this narrative, have 
rendered us peculiarly sensitive to 
the injustice done by this writer. — 
fcaa was a brave man, a polished 

gentleman, a skilful soldier, and ar 
elegant writer. The union of hh 
and Pickens' legion presented ai 
array of leaders and men,?probablj 
no where equalled by the same 
number in any revolutionary bat] 
tlefield ; and) the foe whom they 
pursued when the fortune of wai 
placed Pyle within their power, anei 
lost them Tarlton, was worthy o 
their steel. We think we are fuHj 
sustained, however, by the evidence 
before us, in the opinion that mar 
for man, Pickens and his legior 
were more than equal to the troop 
ers led by either Lee or TarltOn.. 
Iki the autumn of 1832 we spen 
a few days at the house of Davie 
Mebane, nine miles West of Hills 
borough. He died an octogenarian 
a few years thereafter, on the plan 
tation where he was born. H<| 
pointed out the road around the 
farm which was taken by Pickens 
and Lee in pursuit ©f Tarlton, 
short time before they encounterec 
Pyle, described minutely the ap 
pearance of the troops as thej 
pressed on in their hurried march 
and especially of Colt Polk who 
particularly attraet»d>his attention 
A few weeks after this interview 
we spent a day. with General Gra 
ham> and about the same time, hel 
conversations with Col 

Polk in relation, to revolutiona: 
events, and especially with refer 
ence to Pyle' s defeat. 
Col. Polk entered the revolution 



ary army in 1777. He was in the 
battles of Brandywine and Ger- 
naantown, and was with Gen. Nash 
when the thigh of the latter was 
crushed by a cannon ball. He had 
two molar teeth extracted by a 
musket ball, and amid the wounded 
andi dying, was the immediate wit- 
ness of the agonies endured, by 
Nash during the terrible 1 night 
which succeeded the battle. He 
was the aid of Gen. Davidson, and 
at his side when he fell beneath the 
rifle of the tory Hager at Cowan's 
Ford. At Eutaw, on the 8th Sep- 
tember, 1781, while in rapid pursuit 
©f a tory ofiicer, the latter sudden- 
ly wheeled and planted a* rifle ball 
in his left shoulder which disabled 
him for life. The arm was almost 
severed from the body, and yet so 
little did it affect the appearance of 
the erect and stalwart soldier, that 
it was never, until domiciled with 
him, during a visit to- the Univer- 
sity in 1832, when we found him; 
unable to put on his coat without 
assistance, that any suspicion was 
entertained o$ the extent and se- 
verity of the wound. He was con- 
fined for several months after the 
battle, and when* he rose from hia 
bed, his hair which he wore long 
m a cue according to the fashion of 
the times, formed a mat, m; which, 
to use his owm language,, "every 
hair stood for- itself." It became 
necessary to remove it, and the 
young womam who personated the 

barber on the occasion, clipped it 
off with her scissors in a solid fleece. 
Lee audi Eggleston who were with 
him at ~ByW s defeat, fougnt with him 
at Eutaw ; but no one of the trying 
scenes- he had* witnessed, seemed to 
affect him so deeply as the terrible 
carnage of the- deluded and unre- 
sistingrtories- under Pyle.* 

Graham and Fblk never fought 
albn«$ and: their followers were 
Mecklenburg men. Their own 
blood flowed in copious streams, 
and in every battle-field their swords 
drank blood. 

It is a little remarkable that while 
this-narrative of Mr. Everett's seems 
destined to a wide circulation in 
North Carolina, the graphic and 
authentic account by General Gra- 
ham, which appeared in this Maga- 
zine in May, 1856, found its way 
into the North Carolina Argus and 
one of the Salisbury papers, and 
we believe, no others. 

The- following letters from Judge 
Murphy to Gen. Graham, which 
appeaceduni this Magazine in De- 
cember, 1854, and the letter from 
Gen. Graham to Judge Murphy in 
the No. of the preceding month, 

*Perceiring the surprise which the e ztent of hie 
wound occasioned, he remarked that when the fircl 
Act of Congress was passed* allowing pensions to 
wounded and invalid soldiers, Judge Eetgreavea pro- 
posed to make cat a certificate for him. The Colonel 
declined, with the intimation that there was no Judge 
in the State less an invalid than he. 

At the time of. his death, Colonel Polk wm the loaf 
surviving field ofiicer of the North Carolina line^— 
Judge Setgreaves waa one of the aids of Caawell M 
the battle of Camden. 



were never copied by any of our 
newspaper editors ; and as that v'ol- 
' ume of our Magazine is nearly out 
.' of print, we hare determined to re- 
produce them in our own pages, 

• with the hope, peradventure, they 
may yet find favor elsewnere. 

Haw River, ) 
July 20th, 1821. J 
Dear General : — On yesterday 

I received your letter of the 14th 
inst. I must beg your pardon for 
■ not before acknowledging the re- 
ceipt of the packet directed to me 
at Salisbury. A continued series 
, of afflictions in my family, added to 
a great pressure of business, had 
! withdrawn my mind until lately 
I from the subject of your communi- 
cation. They now engage my at- 
tention almost exclusively, and will 
continue to do so, for eight or ten 
r days. I entreat you to continue 
' your narrative, and give to it all 
the detail your memory will enable 
< you to give ; and notwithstanding 
» you have filled 20 sheets, fill 20 
more. I am in correspondence with 

• several gentlemen on these subjects, 

• as well as other parts of the histo- 
„ ry of North Carolina; but from none 

have I received communications so 
.. circumstantial, connected, and in- 
teresting as from you. I wish you 
. to progress through the Revolution- 
ary war, and I will submit to you 
heads for a further narrative, em- 
bracing the prominent points of our 
history since 1783. 

Your letter to Col. Conner, first 
suggested to me the plan of a work, 
which I will execute if I live. It 
is a work on the history, soil, cli- 
mate, legislation, civil institutions, 
literature, &c, of this State. Soon 
after reading your letter, I turned 
my attention to the subject, in the 
few hours which I could snatch 
from business, and I was surprised 
to find what abundant materials, 
could, with care and diligence, be 
collected; materials which, if well 
disposed, would furnish matter for 
one of the most' interesting works 
that has been published in this coun- 
try. We want such a work. Wo 
neither know ourselves, nor are wo 
known to others. Such a work 
well executed, would add very much 
to our standing in the Union, and 
make our State respectable in our 
own eyes. Amidst the cares and 
anxieties which surround me, I can- 
not cherish a hope, that I could do 
more than merely guide the labours 
of some man who would take up 
the work after me, and prosecute it 
to perfection. I love North Caro- 
lina, and love her the more, because 
so much injustice has been done tOj 
her. We want pride. We want 
independence. We want magnan- 
imity. Knowing nothing of our- 
selves, we have nothing in our his- 
tory to which we can turn with 
feelings of conscious pride. We 
know nothing of our State, and care 
nothing about it. 



It adds to one's mortification on 
this subject, that the printers of this 
State are so little minded, that one 
will not copy from another any ar- 
ticle of public interest, which is 
communicated. If papers were sent 
for publication to New York, they 
would be published from the New 
York papers in all the papers of this 
State ; yet, if sent to Raleigh, Hills- 
boro', Salisbury, &c, they will be 
found in only that paper to which 
they are sent. The editors at Fay- 
etteville form an honorable excep- 
tion. They search out and give 
place to everything they can find 
respecting North Carolina — a man 
cant write for every paper, and no 
one paper has a general circulation 
< — much more would be written, if 
all the papers would give it public- 
ity, because more information would 
be thereby distributed through the 
community. We want some great 
stimulus to put us all in motion, and 
induce us to waive little jealousies 
and combine in one general march 
to our great purpose. 

The events of the years 1780 and 
1781, will fill a large octavo volume, 
and I will exert myself to complete 
it during the ensuing winter. You 
have entered upon the subject with 
more zeal than any other man, and 
I beg a continuance of your labors. 
Extracts from the work, as first 
written, without corrections, will 
be published in the Recorder. I di- 
rected this paper to be sent to you, 

and I am sorry the account of the 
battle at Ramsours' has not reached ' 
you. I will get a paper and send 
it to you. Have you received the 
papers containing the remarks "on 
the history of North Carolina 1" 
This was the first published, in Jan- 
uary last. Have you received the 
account " of the first Revolutionary , 
movements?" The printer made a . 
mistake and said, " in the United 
States," instead of " in thisjState." 
This was in March. 

I will publish another paper short- 
ly * * / * . * J^j would give me 
great pleasure to see you, and I 
hope you will come to Salisbury. — 
In the meantime prevail on youT 
brother to lend his aid to the work, 
and draw up an account of the ex- 
peditions, in which he took a part, 
and from which you were absent. 
I hope providence will spare your 
life " till something can be done for 
the honor and glory of North Car' 

Yours truly, 
Gen, Jos. Graham. 

Request your brother to give & 
minute detail of Rutherford's cam- 
paign against the Cherokees, in 
1776, The number of troops ? — 
the rendezvous ; the causes of the 
war with the Cherokees ; the march 
of Rutherford ; the preparations of 
the Cherokees ; their chief's names, 
and characters; their place of abodej 
operations of the army ; force of. 



the Cherokees ; route of the army 
over the mountains ; Cherokee 
towns taken and burnt ; anae&otes 
of the campaign; the treaty ^ the 
commissioners, both on the part of 
the Indians and the whites for mak- 
ing the treaty ; miscellaneous par- 
ticulars ; return of the troops ; their 
being disbanded ; where and when ; 
how paid, and how much, &c; also, 
similar account of the campaign 
■inder Caswell in 1776 ; request him 
to go into every detail. 

A. D. M. 

We have now the pleasure of pre- 
senting in the subjoined letter, to 
the late Judge Mumphey, .-a correc- 
tion of various misstatements which 
have found a place history, in 
relation t@ events which occurred 
within our borders, during the me- 
morable invasions^ Lord Cornwal- 
lis, in 1780-m. 

The facts 4hat itihe troops which 
gained so much distinction, under 
the command of General Pickens, 
were from North Carolina, and 
mainly from Mecklenburg and the 
adjoining counties, had until very 
re6ently, like the Mecklenburg Dec- 
lation, escaped the attention of our 
best informed writers. For the 
preservation of this and other in- 
teresting events in our revolution- 
ary history, we are indebted entire- 
ly to the careful pen of General Gra- 
ham. For a detailed account of the 
lending incidents which mark the 

history of his long, eventful, and 
useful life, our readers may turn to 
the 2dwx>l. of Wheeler's Historical 
Sketches, p. 282. 

Vesuvius Furnace, 1 
20th of December, 1827. j 
Dear Sir : Some time past, I for- 
warded you certain sketches rela- 
tive to occurrences in the Kevolu- 
tionary War in the Western part 
of North Carolina. I have since 
perused Johnson's History, of the 
life of tfcren. Greene, and strictures 
on it, %y Lee, Jr., and would beg 
leave to correct some errors into 
which vlshey have fallen. 

1. It is stated, sot oniy by these 
Historians, but by most ethers, that 
after Lord Cornwallis arrived in 
Charlotte, he attempted marching 
to Salisbury. Tarleton's legion, 
a,mi. a battalion of infanty, after 
they had dislodged Col. Davies com- 
mand in the village, pursued six or 
seven miles, to Sassafras fields, 
(where I was wounded,) and re- 
turned the same evening. After 
this, no part of the British army 
went two miles on the Salisbury 
road, v.ntil they retreated from 
Charlotte, upon hearing of the dis- 
aster at King's Mountain.* 

2. It is stated, by the historians 
generally, that about, and on, the 
first of February, 1781, the Catawba | 
river was swolen, and that this wad , 
the reason, why Lord Cornwallis j 
did not pursue Gen. Morgan mora 

•Revolutionary His. N. C, 168. 



closely. The statement is errone- 
ous. During the three days imme- 
diately preceding the 1st of Feb- 
ruary, my command of cavalry or 
portions of it, crossed the river at 
different fords ; and it was not 
fl usher of water than is usual at 
that season of the year, until the 
rain, which fell, on the evening of 
the first of February.* This, did 
occasion a rise in the Yadkin, which 
mtereepted the British after Greene's 
army had passed, on the third of 

3. Much is stated, and contra- 
dictory accounts are given, as to 
bhe part Gen. Picken's of S. C. act- 
od, in the campaign. The facts are 
.hese : After the retreat from Cow- 
an's Ford, on the 1st of February, 
Jen. Piekens with five or six South 
Carolina refugees, was in the rout 
l)f our troops, Korth Carolina Mi- 
itia, on the same day, by Tarlton's 
Cavalry at Torrence's Tavern, six 
idles eastward of the river. Gen. 
Oavidson, the commander of this 
brce had fallen, and there were 
aoubts and disputes among the field 
Mficers, as to who should succeed 
iim. In this condition of affairs, 
yhile my cavalry were beyond the 
Uhallow Ford of the Yadkin, hang- 
ing on the rear of the enemy, it 
pas mutually agreed by the field ' 
Officers to invest Gen. Pickens with 
he command of Davidson's troops,| 

•Revolurionary Hint. N. C, 182. See also, Lee'i 
Inn, and Loaning, for the error, here corrected. 
tRev. Hia. X. C, 188, 189. 

amounting to six or seven hundred 
men. This was about the 11th off 
February, and the South Carolina 
refugees might then amount to 
twenty or thirty men. James Jack- 
son of the Georgia line, a Lieuten- 
ant, was appointed Brigade Major. 
He has since been a member of Con- 
gress and Governor of that State. 
After this organization, the Brigade 
proceeded, crossing the Shallow 
Ford of the Yadkin, through Salem, 
to Guilford Court House. Here in- 
telligence was received of the move- 
ments of the enemy to Hillsboro' 
— and we took that direction, more 
condensed and cautious than before. 
Hitherto, the march had been reg- 
ulated by detachments for the con- 
venience of procuring subsistence. 
Arrived at a mill, on Back or 
Stony Creek, some twelve or fifteen 
miles from Hillsboro', in the eve- 
ning of the 17tk of Feb., shortly 
after we had encamped, the Briga- 
dier Major gave orders that Capt. 
Graham should furnish twenty dra- 
goons, and Captain Simmons, of 
Bo wan, a Eke number of riflemen. 
As soon as these officers reported 
their quotas in readaness, General. 
Pickens himself came and gave 
these two officers orders, as follows, 
viz : " You will proceed down the 
road towards Hillsboro' with the 
greatest caution and circumspec- 
tion. If you find any detachment 
of the enemy out, inferior to your 
own, attack them. If you -discover 



a larger party beyond supporting 
distance from their main army, and 
you can keep yourselves concealed, 
give me notice, and I will come or 
eend an additional force to assist 
you. But if you ascertain you are 
discovered by a larger party of the 
enemy return immediately . In any 
event, return early in the morning; 
for they will then hear of you from 
the inhabitants of the country. If 
I move from this place, you will 
find my trail up the west side of 
this creek and may join me by 10 
o'clock to-morrow." There were 
four or five volunteers who went 
with the party besides those order- 
ed ; but none of them were present 
when the ordeis were given. — 
Among others I recollect Major 

Micajah Lewis, (a continental offi- 
cer who was killed a few days af- 
terwards at 'Dickey's,) and his broth- 
er Joel. But though of superior 
rank, neither Major Lewis nor any 
other, assumed any command over 
the detachment, or the officers who 
had received the General's orders. 
The party set out between sunset 
and dark. After proceeding several 
miles on the Hillsborough road, and 
when it was fully dark, met Robert 
Posset, (usually called, as I under- 
stood, mad Bob,) and another per- 
BOh, whose name is not remember- 
ed. They were direct from Hills- 
borough, and gave us the first in- 
formation of a picket at Hart's 
Mill, supposed to be about thirty 

in number. We determined to at- 
tack them at light in the morning.. 
Gen. Pickens certainly knew noth- 
ing of this picket being at the mill 
when he detached us, although it 
is otherwise stated by Johnson. — 
Fosset at first thought we were a 
party of the enemy. We compell- 
ed him to be ourpilot. If he is yet 
living, I would beg leave, to, refer 
you to him for subsequent events.. 
In the morning, when we approach-, 
ed the picket, their sentry fired ; 

and a sergeant and file of men came 
immediately to his support. Sim* 
mons and his riflemen dismounting 
and tieing their horses, the sergeant 
and party fired in the direction of 
the noise, for they could not«ee us. 
Major Lewis, myself and six others 
crossed into the road leading to- 
wards Mebane's and charged down 
this road after the sergeant and 
party, who ran, until we came 
within sight of the picket. Major 
Lewis then suggested to me the ad- 
vantage the riflemen might have, 
by passing to the right, under cover 
of the hill,, until they should be 
masked by some out buildings, (I 
think a stable and smithshop.) We 
instantly returned and gave Capt. 
Simmons his instructions, and the 
cavalry moved off to the left, through 
an old field, above where buildings 
have since been erected, in order to 
attract the attention and fire of the 
enemy, until the riflemen should 
gain their destined position. Th* 



plan succeeded as we expected.-— 
Owing to the great distance, the 
cavalry sustained no damage from 
the enemy's fire ; and as soon as the 
riflemen, at the distanee of only 
fifty or sixty yards, in their con- 
cealed position, had discharged their 
pieces at the picket, the cavalry 
charged, and the whole, consisting 
of twenty-seven men, were instant- 
ly killed or taken. 

Now, Johnson states, that this 
party was under the command of 
Col. Hugh M'Call, of South Caro- 
lina, and was of these who had been 
with him at the Cowpens. Some 
two or three volunteers were along 
besides the Lewises as above men- 
tioned. If Col. M'Call was one of 
them, if is not remembered by me 
and others who were present, and 
of whom I have made inquiry, since 
the appearance of this statement. 
But if he was present, certain I am 
he had no part, either in planning, 
or in the execution of the capture 
of the picket referred to. Nor did 
we consult respecting it with any 
other person, except Maj. Lewis,* 
(who was a real soldier.) His coun- 
flels were deferred to by us, know- 
ing, as we did, his past service and 
experience. But Captain Simmons 
and myself gave the orders, and 
felt the whole responsibility. If 

♦Major Lowis was of Surry County, and a near con- 
nexion of the late Governor Jesse Franklin, who was 
ft captain in this campaign. Ilia grave, though neg- 
lected, is still recognized on Dickey's plantation, in 

M'Call was along, he was no more 
than a spectator. Several, yet liv- 
iug, can vouch for this. When the 
Brigade was organized west of the 
Yadkin, no officers from the South 
were recognized but General Pick- 
ens and Major Jackson. For we 
had over our proportion of field of- 
ficers from North Carolina, and 
did'nt need them. When our par- 
ty and prisoners arrived in camp, 
the Brigade immediately moved 
nearly a North course ten or twelve 
miles, and halted to forage, about 
mid afternoon, at a farm with high 
fences, having left a strong guard 
in the rear. In half an hour, there 
was an alarm by a man from the 
guard, who reported " Tarleton was 
coming." It being too late to re- 
treat, a disposition was made for 
battle by lining the fences with 
men,, and making gaps at suitable 
places for cavalry to move as cir- 
cumstances might require. By the 
time these arrangements were made 
a part of the rear guard and Col. 
Lee's legion hove in sight. Lee had 
come upon our trail a few miles 
back, and we were most agreeably 
disappointed in greetinghim instead 
of Tarleton. 

I am confident that this was the 
first interview between Lee and 
Pickens, during the campaign, and 
my impression always has been,, 
that previously to this time neither 
General Greene nor Colonel Lee 
knew anything about wkere Piok» 



ens was, or what was his force : — 
nor did Gen. Pickens know that 
any part of Greene's command had 
re-crossed the Dan. 

4. As I anticipated in the intro- 
duction to the sketches I furnished 
you, the historians of that War 
have greatly failed to do justice to 
the troops of North Carolina. For 
example, every thing that was done 
by General Sumter's force at Hang- 
ing Rock, Rocky Mount, &c, while 
he commanded North Carolinians 
in 1780, and by that of Pickens, 
while he commanded Davidson's 
Brigade in 1781 as above related, is 
placed to the credit of South Caro- 
lina from the circumstances of those 
two Generals commanding.* Judge 
Johnson even states that at the bat- 
tle of Cowpens, Major Joe McDow- 
ell and his command from Burke 
eounty in this State were from S. 

5. Col. Lee having written his 
Memoirs upwards of thirty years, 
after the transactions he relates, 
has omitted to mention many things, 
and of others he must have forgot- 
ten the circumstances : though upon 
the whole, he is more correct as far 
as I had a personal knowledge, 
than any other historian I have 
read. You may recollect that in 
his memoirs he passes unnoticed 
the skirmish at Clapp's Mill, al- 
though ho had command of the 
party engaged. Col. Otho Wil- 

*~*Bev. His. N. C, 153. 

liiams calls it "the skirmish on the 
Alamance," and says we had but 
three killed. On the day .after the 
action, Pickens and Lee detached 
me with a party to the bafcfcle ground^ 
and I got the inhabitants to bury 
eight of our maen, (all militia, and 
two of my own eompany.) I beg 
leave to refer you t© what I have 
written before on this suhject. 

6. Johnson's History is the only 
one I have seen, which notices the 
fact that, on the second night after 
the affair at Clapp's Mill, on Ala- 
mance, a detachment of British cav- 
alry fell in with a party of Tories 
on their march to join the British, 
and that mistaking each other for 
adversaries, a number of the Tories 
were killed or wounded, before the 
mistake was discovered. But he 
appears to know nothing ot our 
party teazing the British in the af- 
ternoon : and at night charging and 
dispersing their patrol, and captur- 
ing its commander, and that these 
were the reasons why a large body 
of horse were dispatched up the 
Salisbury road, which met the Tories 
and occasioned the mishap he men- 
tions. This you will find m the 

7- Lee states that at Pyles' de- 
feat,* the action was commenced 
by the firing of the Tories on the 
Militia, in his rear. Whereas, the 
fact was, that I riding in front of 
the Militia dragoons, near to Capt. 

*Rev. Hia. N. C, 186 and 190. 



Eggleston who birought up Lee'« 
rear, at the distance of forty or 
fifty yards, pointed out to him, the 
strip of red cloth on the ihats of 
Pyles' men, as the mark of Tories. 
Eggleston appeared to doubt this, 
until he came nearly opposite to the 
end of their line, when riding up 
to the man on their left, who ap- 
peared as an officer, he inquired, 
I Who do you belong to ?" The 
answer was promptly given, " To 
King George," upon which Eggle- 
ston struck him on the head with 
his sword. Our dragoons well 
knew the red cloth on the hat to be 
the badge of Tories, but being un- 
der the immediate command of Lee, 
they had waited for orders. But 
seeing the example set by his offi- 
cer, without waiting for further 

commands, they rushed upon them 
like a torrent. Lee's men, next to 
the rear, discovering this, reined in 
thsir horses to the right upon the 
Tory line, and in less than one min- 
ute the engagement was general. 
Colonel Lee being in front, and at 

the other end of the line, say forty 
poles, from where the action com- 
menced, might have believed the 
Tories first attacked us. If, how- 
ever, he had inquired of Capt. Eg- 
gleston, he could have informed him 

As to other events, of which 1 
have a personal knowledge, there 
^re misrepresentations, but it is not 

convenient for me to point out all 
of them. 

I am, sir, very respecfully, 

Your most obedient, 
The Hon. A. D. Murphey. 


It is mournful to contemplate the 
fallen fabric of a once powerful na- 
tion, to trace its history back to 
the day when, like some gigantic 
monarch of the prarie, it towered 
aloft in solitary but proud and in- 
dependent magnificence, and follow 
it in its downward course as it sinks 
to insignificance beneath the ruth- 
less sway of destiny. 

Among the nations which have 
existed since the creation of the 
world none conjure up this feeling 
more vividly than Arabia. Com- 
paratively nothing is known of tho 
early history of the Saracens, they 
at first appear before us a small 
band of plundering nomads, with 
no laws but of the most savage 
character — no religion but a super- 
stitious mumery of the darkest 
paganism — acknowledging no com- 
mand but that of their chief, and 
subsisting precariously by murder 
and robbery. But if their dawn 
was shrouded in gloom and infamy 
their rise was enveloped in splendor 
and glory. The Arabs are not re- 
garded as a historical people until 
j the time of Mahomet, when they 



sprang forth a small troup actuated 
by the wildest fanaticism (which 
they believed and which seemed to 
be) inspiration, and like some great 
river which swollen by tributaries 
goes roaring on to the ocean, they 
gathered strength as they progress- 
ed, and soon like a tornado, swept 
over a country greater than that of 
Rome during the Angustan age. — 
Like an avenging pest the Saracens 
of the East scourged Asia Minor, 
dying the golden sands of Lydia 
with the blood of their victims, 
ravaging Phrygia and Lyconia, 
darkening the classic sky of Attica 
with the smoke of conquest and 
slaughter, while their war cry re- 
verberated along the waters of the 
Mediterranean and the flower-clad 
Boil of Cyprus was trodden beneath 
their irresistible feet. 

And yet, the Arabs of the West 
were achieving victories still more 
brilliant. While the ¥ Watchword 
of the Prophet " was rising like 
the howl of some beast of prey, 
upon the ears of the trembling in- 
habitants of Stamboul, Crete Sicily 
and Semnos were invaded and con- 
quered, and not even fair Italy es- 
caped untouched from the dauntless 
followers of Islam. They overran 
and laid waste Calabria and Cam- 
pania, and hurrying forward in 
their reckless march, sounded the 
Tecbar at the foot of the walk and 
plundered the tombs and churches 
of St. Paul and St. Peter beneath 

the very eyes of theter-ror-strick-eo 
people ot the Eternal City.. 

But it is not on the blood-stained 
battle-field, or exulting over the 
ruins of desolated cities that we 
delight to view the Ishmealite. It 
is with feelings of pleasure that we 
follow him, as he turn from scenes 
of violence and horror, and guides 
his talents into more genial channels 
of literature. 

Although his success in life has 
scarcely ever been surpassed, his 
rapid rise in the scientific and liter- 
ary world has never been equalled. 
It was during the time of Haroun 
al Raschid Almanonnd (who is 
called the Maecenas of the East,) 
and Yathek that Arabia shone forth 
in her greatest effulgence and beau- 
ty. Then it was that the City of 
Peace opened her portals, and invi- 
ted scholars and men of genius of 
eve^ry creed and every country to 
her friendly shelters, and then was 
it that the Saracen could boast that 
his capital was the Queen of the 
intellectual world. Here the his- 
torian basked in the sunshine of 
royal favor, and the mellow vibra- 
tions of eloquence echoed along the 
council halls of the Caliphs. The 
Muses were woed frem their favor- 
ite retreats of Helicon and Parnas- 
sus, and obedient to the call came 
across the Bosphorus and settled on 
the domain of the dusky man of the 
desert, shedding upon his soul that 
poetic fire, the fruits of which i 




richness and fervor, can compare 
favorably with the productions of 
the ancient Grecian and Roman 

Nor was this all, their warm im- 
aginations exploring every vein of 
literature, soared with peculiar 
pleasure into the dreamy fields of 
romance, and its choicest flowers 
were showered in profusion around 
the throne of their patron Kings-. 
The Saracens rejected with scorn 
and contempt the poetry of the an- 
cients as being cold and passionless 
in comparison with their own, and 
with that independence of spirit 
which has 'ever characterized them, 
proudly shaped a model for them- 
selves and adorned it with the gems 
of Oman, the fragrance of Hadra- 
araant, the groves and nightengales 
0'f Aden, and the odorous incense 
of Yemen. This is not strange, we 
consider what effect language, cli- 
mate ai.d landscape must h^ve had 
upontheir imaginations. 'Their lan- 
guage in fertility of expression and 
'beauty of metaphor is not surpas^j 
•ed by any in the world, while their 
'balmy climate and sublime land- 
scape, where oceans of yellow sand 
•decked with green and smiling is- 
lands, woods which never loose their 
'vernal bloom, frowning rocks, and 
tnountains around which the most 
*acred and hallowed associations 
■cling, all tend to kindle into a glow- 
ing flame that latent spark of ge- 
nius which slumbers in the soul. 

How grand and majestic does 
Arabia appear at this period. Let 
us review for a moment the condi- 
tion of the surrounding countries 
during the dark ages — the mind was 
palsied and torpid, bound down by 
the united shackles of superstition, 
ignorance ahd fanaticism — no law 
save that which the most powerful 
chose to dictate — no employment 
but rapine and murder — education 
scoffed and regarded as a mere 
Chimera. A dark cloud enveloped 
the world, and man seemed as if 
about to return to primeval barba- 
rism ; but far in the firmanent of 
the East one bright particular star 
broke the gloomy monotony of this 
picture, standing solitary but beam- 
ing with a purer light from being 
alone. It was Arabia. Here the 
persecuted form of science found a 
home, and clustering upon the bo- 
som of this radiant star might be 
seen glittering the gems of litera- 
ture and art. 

There are still other circumstances 
which give the Ishmealite an addi- 
tional halo of interest — he fulfilled 
the prophecy of the Holy Writ in 
every detail— ■" his hand has been 
against every man and every man's 
hand against him/' and he is yet 
unsubdued. With an unflinching 
front he successfully resisted the 
invasios nof the Babylonian, Asyrian, 
Persian, and Egyptian Kings, ho 
bow6d but a moment under the 
fierce blows of Macedonia's great 



conqueror, and ere the mighty arm 
of Rome reached him, it withered 
and fell powerless at her side, leav- 
iug the Arab as free and masterless 
as the eddying whirls of his own 
wild winds. And he has founded 
a religion which promises to last 
through time, and which in purity 
of principles and excellence of pre- 
cept has no superior but christian- 

The sublime delusion of mythol- 
ogy has passed away, and is now 
regarded only as a romance of for- 
mer times. The thunder boltsv of 
Jupiter have fallen from his nerve- 
less grasp — Charon no longer.rows 
his boat, across the gloomy Styx — 
old Neptune has left the stormy sea, 
and the fabulous assemblagerof dei- 
ties have long since le% their abode 
upon snow-capped Olympus, but 
the Moslem yet bows the knee to 
Allah, and acknowledges baatone 

Egypt has-, left her massive py- 
ramids as ani&dexof former great 
ness — the Parthenon remains as 
monument of Rome's former glor 
— the beautiful ruins of Athens 
mark what Greece was once ; but 
Arabia in the a$me of her glory has 
left in , her literature a memento 
which will endure for- ever and 
which now adorns the pages of eve- 
ry modern volume. 


•' How fleet is the glance of the mind I 

ComparM with the sgaed of iti flight, 

The tempest itself lags behind, 

And the gwift-wiiigod, arrow of light." — Cowpib, 




Do you regret the times^ of ro- 
mances, the middle ages, wbten, un-; 
dei the yeUfow covering of i its vol- 
umes, the Parisian library sent ue 
each week the recital of;' some 
" mauvais garcona," or the glbomy 
stories of" Venezia labella "t. Then 
was heard spoken of only the bladeg 
of Toledo and- the solid armors oi 
Florence ; the- attempt was made 
to resuscitate a picturesque past! 
and it was pleasant to witness* th<j 
curiosity which " Buridan le capij 
taine" awakened, or the tears whicl 
the •" Venetienne " or the " Bravo' 
caused \W flow. 

Certainly one^ean regret this^pe 
riod of enthusiasm and literary 
faith, for it has doubtless fled for i 
long time, bearing with it our beau 
tiful legends and our mysteribu 
and gloomy dramas. 

The, story whieh we wish now tfl 
relate is the last which will be told 
of this kind, perhaps forgotten bj 
the existing generation. Yet, it ha| 
all the features of a well-establishel 
authenticity, and may we be aHowl 
ed before beginning the recital cl 
it to hope that it may interest an I 
amuse our readers. 



One evening of the month of ' tation, and the host having with- 

June, 1550, towards ten o'clock, a 
man of about fifty years of age, 
stopped before one of the most fre- 
quented taverns of Venice, kept 
at that period by the Florentine, 

The moon had not yet risen ; the 
night was dark and tbe tavern was 
overflowing with drinkers.. The 
man passed through the midst of 
these and proceeded direct to the 
host. But the latter had perceived 
him at a distance,' made him a.' sign 
of intelligence and invited him to 
follow him immediately. They 
then left the hall and ascended to 
the first story, by a tortuous and 
slippery pair of stairs, and, after 
having passed through a gloomy 
passage, they entered a miserable 
chamber, which contained for its 
entire furniture, only one worm- 
eaten table and some rickety, stools. 

A man was resting on his elbow 
at this table, on which a lamp was 
burning; — he was an old man of not 
less than sixty years of, age, and 
whose physiognomy presented a, 
strange mixture of boldness, and 
cunning. At the noise of ith#i ope- 
ning of the door, he started 1 and 
.puised his head. A gleam shot from 
his eye when he perceived the stran- 
ger, whom the innkeeper served as 
a guide, a hypocritical smile played 
upon hislips, and he stood fixed, 
rather than raised himself up. 

The stranger gave a blunt? salu- 

drawn at a sign from the old man, 
the latter offered a seat to the new 
comer, and proceeded himself to 
resume the seat which he had left. 

* You are Captain Donato, in- 
deed?' he then said to the stranger, 
who bowed. 

' I have been told that you han- 
dle the sword with fearful skill,and 
that you have never declined an 
1 affaire ' when it presented itself in 
a suitable manner.' 

? That is true, ' answered the 

< Moreover/ pursued the old man, 
' I have been assured that you came 
to Venice with the design of search- 
ing there for the traces of two chil- 
dren whom you formerly left there 
— a son and daughter. But to ef- 
fect these inquiries you have been 
always in need of money, , up 'to* 
this day.' 

' AH that is the exact truth/again 
answered the Captain. 

' Ah well J this money which you 
need*— -these tokens whiohu, you de- 
sire,.!, can give you.' 

< If you do that I »m years, body 

1 Ikwill do it/ returned! the old 
ma% l and will demand in exchange 
neither your body nor your soul. 
You have a sword and you have 
courage ; it is of this sword and of 
this courage that I have need ; are 
you willing to devote them to mjr 
service V." 



1 Explain yourself more clearly, 
and I will understand you better.' 

' There are in the Republic of 
Venice, in Venice itself, three young 
patricians — all three equally hand- 
some, equally brave, equally proud ; 
one is called Pierre Candieno, anoth- 
er Jacob Cancillieri, and the third 
Andre'a Steno. These three youths 
never walk but together — they are 
bound by the strictest friendship, 
and he who sees one is certain soon 
to see the two others. Ah well ! 
suppose, Captain Donato, that these 
three men had met you one eve- 
ning, and that passing near you 
they had insulted you.' 

' Corps du Christ !' cried Donato, 
4 1 advise that no one in the repub- 
lic of Venice commit such an act 

* But if instead of one, it were 
necessary to punish three ?' 

*JVIy lord, the Donatos never count 
their enemies/ 

' Wonderful ! It would appear, 
however, that you sometimes know 
how to silence your wrath very op- 
portunely, for it has been reported 
to ine that the other evening, in 
passing along the square of the 
* Palais Ducal, ' Pierre Condieno 
knocked you with his elbow and 
tha,t you have said nothing to him.' 

' By the blood of my father — 
those who have reported this have 
lied therein,' cried the Captain, be- 
coming red with fury. 

* That is not all,' pursued his in- 

terlocutor without exhibition of 
feeling, ' I have been told besides 
that scarcely three days ago, in com 
ing out Of the church of Olivoco 
Jacob Cancillieri trod upon your 
foot and that you retreated to allow 
him to pass.' 

' I will slay Pierre Candieno and 
Jacob Cancillieri, ' answered the 
Captain in a deep voice, fixing two 
provoking eyes on the old man 
' and if any one dare to repeat such 
words, 1 will nail his tongue to the 
palace with the sword you see here 
remember that !' 

And speaking thus the Captairj 
rested his iron-gloved hand heavibj 1 
upon the hilt of his sword. Th 
little old mah smiled artfully anc 
continued fearlessly. 

' As for Andre'a Steno, there i 
another story which he recounts t 
whomsoever wishes to hear it 
concerns you, and it is this : Ye 
terday in the evening, as you wer 
promenading on the most frequen 
ed square, Andre'a Steno, passin 
near you, let fall one of his glove 
at your feet. Andre'a relates thi 
not having near him one of h 
valets, who usually attends hin 
and taking you for that of one 
his friends, he showed you the glo\ 
and that you picked it up/ 

At these last words, Captai 
Donato struck with all the force 
his arm on the worm-eaten tab! 
and gaining the door, which 
opened with a violent gesture, 





descended the stairs with noise and 
rushed into the hall of the tavern. 
At this moment the outer door was 
opened, and Pierre Candieno, Jacob 
Cancillieri and Andre'a Steno ap- 
peared on the sill, with their hands 
gracefully placed on their hips. 

The Captain had drawn his swor J 
from its scabbard, and he struck 
Violently on one of the tables. 
I f. Now here !' cried he with a for- 
midable voice, w'dch immediately 
drowned all private conversation, 
'now here ! let silence be made here, 
and allow mo to be heard. There 
are in the Republic of Venice three 
;men, three miscreants, three bas- 
tards, who publicly boast that they 
i have caused Captain Donato to fear. 
These three men are Pierre Can- 
dieno, Jacob Cancillieri and Andre v a 
Steno. My purse to him who will 
introduce me to them all three.' 
I And, saying these words, the 
Captain threw his purse upon the 
table, at which some artisans were 

There was then a moment of sol- 
emn silence, during which the drink- 
ers looked at each other with amaze 
ment, their eyes asking of each oth- 
er, who could be the man, senseless 
enough to dare to insult three young 
-gentlemen, when these gentlemen 
.could hear those insults. In truth, 
.Captain Donato was of a statue 
to be feared, and one could suppose 

♦The " Nights,," instead of " Knight," as appears 
on pages 205, 29G, and 207. 

that he might be of a size, capable 
of sustaining a struggle courageous- 
ly. But Candieno, Cancillieri and 
Steno were not less courageous, and 
no one in Venice ignored the skill 
with which they handled the sword. 

Nevertheless, the three youths, 
who had stopped at the door-sill 
had at first appeared to hesitate as 
to the part which they ought to 
take ; they thought that Captain 
Donato was a madman at least; 
but they demanded of themselves 
if it became three gentlemen of the 
Republic to allow themselves to be 
treated as bastards, were it even by • 
a madman. Pierre Candieno first 
took his part and advanced towards 

' Captain,' said he to him with a 
firm voice, ' have you been long in 
Ve,nice ?' 

1 Eight days,' answered Donato. 

'And do you not know that Pierre 
Candieno is descended from one 'of 
the most ancient families of the 
Republic, and that he counts doges 
among his ancestors.' ■ 

' That is equal to me/ said the 

' How,' returned Candieno, 'will 
you not retract the words which 
you have spoken ?' 

Captain Donato uttered a burst 
of laughter, throwing himself back- 
ward. Pierre Candieno became pale 
with rage and confusion — he seized 
him vigorously by the arm, and 
shaking him with energy : 



' Captain/ said he to him with a 
voice almost inauble, so much was 
he moved, ' you are a coward, and 
I am Pierre Candieno ! Come !' 

The burst of laughter |rom the 
Captain was immediately extin- 
guished on his lips, and almost at 
the same time his look fixed itself 
on Candieno and bis two com- 

' Corps Dieu !' cried he, with a 
fury which blazed in all hjs features, 
' if you are Pierre Candieno, here 
are near us two young fellows who 
are perhaps those whom I, seek.' 

' Yes,' cried the two youths thus 
called upon., '.and Cancillieri and 
Steno will go and tell through all 
the Eepublic that Captain Donato 
is a coward if he refuse to cross 
swords with theirs.' 

The Captain did not answer. He 
quietly placed his sword in the 
scabbard, cast a haughty glance on 
those who surrounded him, and 
having made an imperceptible sign 
to Pierre Candieno and his two 
companions, he directed his steps 
towards the door and descended into 
the street. 

The three gentlemen did not lose 
Bight of him, and they followed him 
at a distance. A quarter of an hour 
afterwards they reached a retired 
place where they had not the im- 
pertinent to fear.. 

' Here it is !' then said Pierre 
Candieno ; drawing his sword, 'Cap- 

tain Donato, if you please, it is with 
me that you begin.' 

' It matters little/ returned the 
Captain, also baring his scabbard, 
' provided you all three come into 

The two adversaries placed them- 
selves on guard without further 
parley. Cancillieri and Steno look- 
ed on. The moon was risen. It 
was a splendid occasion. Never- 
theless, after the first passes, Can- 
cillieri grew pale, and Steno knit 
his brow. It was evident that the 
Captain was of prime strength. — 
However, they remained silent and 
awaited the result of the combat. 
Now they heard only the noise of 
the two swords which clashed a- 
gainst each oilier in fury. The 
Captain had preserved his self-pos- 
session — Pierre was far from hav^ 
ing guarded his. Already the latter 
had received many severe wounds 
— his blood flowed and stained his 
doublet, but he said not a word, and 
continued with rage. Suddenly the 
Captain appeared to close his game 
— he pressed his adversary more 
closely and caused him to break 
many times. Candieno then lost 
countenance, parried with weakness 
the rapid blows that were aimed at 
him, at last the sword fell from his 
hands, he uttered a feeble cry and 
fell. Canoillieri and Steno ran to 
him. The former quickly tore open 
his doublet and placed his hand on 
his heart. But the heart of Pierre 



tCandieno had ceased to beat — Pierre 
Candieno was dead. 

'Now for you, sir Cancillieri/ 
quietly said Captain Donato, who 
was supporting himself on hip sword, 
$he point thrust into the earth. 

i Yes, now at me/ cried Cancil- 
lieri, ' and may God favor me with 
avenging my best friend/ 

The Captain again placed himseb? 
,on guard, and Cancillieri followed 
ibis example. Steno looked on, his 
brow bent, his soul charged wi^h 
.dismal presentiments. Pierre Can- 
dieno was dead. According to all 
appearance, Cancillieri was. about 
%q die also ; what would remain for 
him, even should God grant him 
the good fortune to cp.m<3 off safe 
and sound from this fataj .combat ? 
And if he was about tq die, what 
regrets would he not leave behind 
b<im ? What would become of his 
mother, widowed of her son, of Jier 
only happiness, of the only tie wh.iph 
bound her still to life ? — above all, 
what would become of Stella, the 
chaste virgin to whom he was to 
b 4 e united ! Stella, the sincere and 
pure angel of his, sweet breams ! — 
His heart rose, and some tear-drops 

' trickled under his eyelids. He no 
longer saw the adversaries, who 

' were struggling before him — he no 

' longer heard the fearful .clashing of 
their swords — their words of me n ace 
and of death no longer reached his 

1 e&rs. He was dreaming. He was 
lost in oblivion. 

All at once he started up. He 
had heard confusedly the rattling 
in the throat of a dying man, and 
felt a hand resting heavily on his 
shoulder. He awoke with surprise 
and gazed all around him. At his 
feet iay the lifeless corpse of Can- 
cillieri, and before stood the collos- 
sal profile of Oaptain Donato. 

' Ah well, my good sir/ said the 
latter to him^ ' is your sword fas- 
tened to its scabbard, or are you 
reflectingat last on the danger there 
is in insulting Captain Donato V 

At this sarcasm Andre'a leapt, 
and before the Captain had time 
to regain his place, the young gen- 
tleman had drawn his sword and 
with it was threatening the breast 
of his adversary. 

' There I there !' said the Captain 
easily parrying the first blows, 'let's 
not be angry — it is not in this man- 
ner that good work is done.' 

The death of his two adversaries 
had neither excited nor fatigued 
Captain Donato. He had his hand 
always as firm, the glance of his 
eye always as true. Andre'a Steno 
was not by a great deal as .skilful 
as his companions ; beside^ he was 
thin and weak, and the habitual 
palor of his countenance attested 
full well the feebleness of his con- 

The Captain had a moment of 
remorse, when he observed the de- 
bility and unskilfulness of his ad- 
versary, and he stopped a moment. 



manifesting a desire to defer the 
duel to another day. 

' Can you be tired V said Andre'a 

'By no means/ answered the 
Captain, ' but 1 perceive that you 
are feeble, and that the efforts which 
you are abandoning yourself to, are 
taking from you the little strength 
you have left. In this way we 
shall not go far.' 

' I have -lived with Candieno and 
Cancillieri — I am willing to die 
with them,' replied the heroic young 

1 But if I do not wish to kill you, 
nevertheless ?' 

' Then it is J who will slay you.' 

The Captain placed himself on 
guard without further reply. At 
the end of some minutes he had 
wounded the young gentleman 
enough to prevent his making use 
of his arm. The blood began to 
flow profusely from the wound, and 
Andre'a Steno, already exhausted 
by the struggle, felt himself failing, 
and he fell with one knee on the 
ground. In the meantime he de- 
ceived himself as to the severity of 
his wound,. and believed it was all 
over with him, as with his two com- 
panions. He then held his hand 
out to his adversary and said to him 
in a suppliant tone : 

' Captain Donato, if I must die, 
as Cancillieri and Crndieno, I have 
two prayers to address to you be- 
fore addressing myself to God/ 

The Captain shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and drew near to the wound- 
ed man. 

' My mother is old/ pursued An- 
dre'a: ' Let my death be concealed 
from her as long as possible. She 
will perhaps find me in Heaven be- 
fore she learns that she has lost me 
on earth;' 

' His first prayer is for his moth- 
er,' said the Captain, with a gravi- 
ty of which, merely to him, one 
would not have believed him capa- 
ble ; ' the second must be for his 
betrothed; is it not true, my good 
sir ?' 

' Listen,' said Andre'a, presenting 
a picture to the Captain, ' you have 
slain Cancillieri and Candieno, my 
two only friends ; but at this most 
important hour I pray you that this 
picture may not leave your hands 
except to pass into those of Stella.' 
' Stella ?' said Captain Donato 
fixing his looks intently on the me- 
dallion which Andre'a had placed 
in his hands. Then, as if the sight 
of this portrait had operated a sud- 
den change in him : 

' Croix Lieu ! Seigneur Andre'a 
Steno,' cried he with emotion. — 
' How happens it that this picture 

is in your hands V 

' It was given me by Stella,' re 

plied Steno, feebly. 

' And this Stella lives ' 

'At the palace Grimani — you will 
go and find her, will you not ? You 
will tell her that I die, and that be- 
fore dying ' 



1 And why do you speak of dy- 
ing?' bluntly interrupted Captain 
Donate ' Come ! come ! my lord, 
jt is no more for you to ask favors, 
to address prayers . ' Let's re- 
main no longer here. Come !' 

And as Andre'a was too weak tp 
walk himsel, the Capain raised him 
in his arms like a child, and bore 
him off through the gloomy streets 
of Venice, 

On the next day, what passed at 
the palace Grimani towards ten o'- 
clock in the evening, js as follows ; 

In an appartment which was se- 
cluded, and opening immediately 
on the caLal, the little old man, 
whom we saw the day before at the 
taven, was seated near the window. 
A feverish agitation discoved itself 
in his look. His keen eye wander- 
ed over the chamber with impa 
tience, and at periods plunged into 
the narrow ways of the canal. — 
Suddenly, his countenance changed 
its aspect, his features glowed and 
his glance gave forth a flash. The 
gate had been opened and a man 
had entered. 

1 Is it you, Olivier V said the old 

1 It is I, my lord, replied Olivier, 

Oliver was the bravo of Venice. 

1 Ah well ! what do you com© to 
tell me ? 

' Good news, my lord.' 

' And is it with our young men 
that it has to do V 

1 Precisely.' 

1 Ah ! ah ! and Pierre Candienpf* 

* He is dead.' * 
1 And Jacob Cancillieri V 

1 Also dead.' 

' And Steno V 
. ' As to him, my lord, he has dis- 
appeared ; but it is probable that 
the lagunes know what has become 
of him.' 

The old man repressed a move- 
ment of immeasurable joy. He re- 
strained himself, and pursued in a 
tone calm enough : 

' And is it known who has freed 
the Eepublic of the three men V 

1 All Venice has to-day only onf 
name on their lips.' 

' And that name ?' 

' Captain Donatp.' 

A silence of some minutes suor 
ceeded these words. The old man 
reflected— the bravo waited. At 
last the former raised his head, and 
fixing his hypocritical gaze on the 
latter ; 

* Olivier,' said lie? ' it is no longer 
of Pieire Candieno that there is 
need of freeing the Eepublic, nor 
of Cancillieri, nor of Steno.' 

' Of whom, then V demanded the 

( Of Captain Donato.' 

He had scarcely fipished speak- 
ing, when the door opened and 
Captain Donato himself entered 
the charnbep, without appearing to 
be moved by the old man's aston- 
ishment more than by the bravo's 



ii — in which one meddles with 

another's concerns. 
Captain Donato marched straight 
to the old man, in that afrOgatit way, 
which was bo familiar to him, and 
stopped some steps in front of him. 
The bravo was frightened at so 
much boldness and asked himself 
with interest, why Seigneur Grimani 
had not already made him put that 
insolent personage bni of doors. — 
The little old man hesitated between 
the very strong desire of freeing 
himself, and the" ardent curiosity 
of knowing the motive of his visit. 

'Seigneur Grimani/ then said 
Captain Donatd, "' I am very glad 
to arrive, opportunely, to spare you 
a useless torment.* 

' How !' cried Grimani, ' you have 
heard 1' 

* Perfectly well. But that is not 
the motive that brings me here. — 
Tou have not forgotten, I think, 
that Pierre Candieno and Jacob 
Caneillieri fell yesterday, and that 
Andre'a Steno has disappeared. I 
have then delivered you of three 
persons whose presence was as un- 
pleasant to you as mine can be at 
this moment. Now, I come now 
to reclaim from you the fulfilment 
of the promise you have'made me.' 

'lam disposed to be useful to 
you within the limits of my power,' 
answered Grimani. 

' I ask no more,' replied the Cap- 
tain sharply, ' and moreover, I have 
the means of simplifying, in a sin- 

gular manner, the searches which 
you must make in order to be agree- 
able to me.' 

' What is it about V 

x Almost nothing. You have rh 
your palace a young girl by the' 
riame of Stella?' 

1 Stella ?' said the little old mati 
with a choked voice. 

' This young girl was affianced to*' 
the young Andre'a. I hfust see' 


'Myself, my lordj-not to displease" 
you at all ; and that is so' 1 much the 
more important as she is the only 
being who can put me on the trace 
of the persons whom I seek.' 

' What folly !' said Grimani es- 
saying to smile; ' Stella is a child 
of only eighteen years of age ; she 
has never gone out of the palace j 
she is acquainted with no one in 
Yenice; How do you mean that 
she knows?' 

'In the first place,' interrupted 
the Captain roughly, ' what yon 
said is not conformed to the truisM. 
Stella is known and loved in Yenice 
so much so that she was sought for 
by three gentlemen belonging to 
the most ancient families of the re- 
public— ^Candieno, Caneillieri and 
Steno. You see that I cannot be 
imposed upon, and besides, what 
matters it after all ? I have need 
to see this young girl, and I will 
see her/ 



' It is impossible 1 ' stammered 

' Consider that I am here accom- 
plishing the last wish of the dying 

*. It is impossible.' 

' Eeflect well, sir, and do not for- 
get that I can tell the parents and 
friends of the victims what passed 
between us at the tavern.' 

The old man shrugged his shoul- 
ders. ' Bad, Captain, bad !' said he 
ironically, 'for before you could 
reach the house of the Candieno's, 
or the Cancillieri's, I might have 
you arrested as the assassin whom 
they are seeking everywhere.' 

1 Then I will speak.' 

' They will not believe you.' 

1 Perhaps, my lord.' 

f I am certain of it, Captain.' 

Donato smiled. ' And yet/ pur- 
sued he in a firmer tone, ' if one of 
these victims issued from his tomb 
and came to affirm what I say is 
the truth V 

* What did you say V demanded 
Grimani, who grew pale at that 

' I say, my lord, that the young, 
Andre'a Steno is alive, and that it 
within one hour I do not bear him 
some news of Stella, it is he who 
will take upon himself to go and 
inform the Candieno's and Cancil- 
lieri's who the assassin is whom 
they must arrest and smite.' 

The turn which the conversation 
was taking appeared infinitely to 

please Olivier, who was all eyes and 
ear.}, and it would have been diffi- 
cult to tell what was passing in his 
heart, if one could yet affirm that 
a bravo had a heart. 

Nevertheless, before the final ex- 
planation of Donato, the old man 
had no longer to hesitate, and he 
resolutely took his part. He then 
arose from his seat, made a sign to 
Olivier which ordered him to re- 
main, and invited the Captain to 
follow him. He thus traversed sev- 
eral passages, and soon reached the 
anti-chamber which preceded Stel- 
la's apartment. The old man was 
about to continue when the Captain 
stopped him by a gesture. 

1 What now V demanded Grimani. 

'Nothing,' responded the Captain, 
' but we ai*e here arrived, I believe, 
and I have now no further need of 

f How !' said Grimani, ' but Stella 
will hot receive you.' 

' Undeceive yourself, my lord, I 
shall be very well received, and I 
am certain she will even not be dis- 
pleased to receive me alone.' 

Seigneur Grimani would have 
given at that moment all the fortune 
that he possessed to have been young 
and able to chastise the Captain's 
insolence ; but he was old and the 
Captain could destroy him by a sin- 
gle word. He was accordingly si- 
lent, pointed out Stella's door to 
him and withdrew. The bravo was 
awaiting him. 



* Olivier,' said he to him with an 
accent full of anger, 'thou has heard, 
is it not so ? This man is now in 
company with Stella — he tells her 
ot Andre^a — he informs her that 
he is not dead, that he lives to love 
her. Olivier, this man must die.' 

'"Without doubt,' answered the 
bravo, ' but if> in one hour, he be 
returned to my lord Andre^a, your 
seigniory is lost.' 

'Yes, I know it. Moreover, the 
Captain must go safe and sound out 
of the palace Grimani. But this 
night — to-morrow with somefriends 
an occasion is made, and the canal 
is deep *' 

1 1 understand.' 

' Is it hoi— r*r-while I wait, the 
council of the Ten claims my atten« 
dance, I must go out. I must place 
myself at a distance — as for you, 
you must remain, you must post 
yourself near Stella's chamber, and 
on my return you will acquaint me 
with what they have said, and what 
they shall have projected.' 

* That shall bo done.' 

4 You have heard me ?' 

<Very well.' 

' For a short time, then, Olivier, 
and do not forget that Seigneur Gri- 
mani is no niggard when there? 
efompensing of services done him is 
in question.' 

On these words the old man with- 
drew rapidly, and Olivier betook 
himself immediately to his post of 

However, after Grimani' s depar* 
ture, the Captain looked all around 
him with hesitation, and put his 
hand to his heart which was beat- 
ing violently, A singular emotion 
changed his features, and two burn- 
ing tears dried on his cheeks. At 
last he advanced towards the door 
and knocked. After some moments 
of waiting, a female voice demand- 
ed who knocked. 

' A man who comes in behalf of 
Seigneur Andre'a,' answered the 

The door opened and the uaptain 

Perceiving him, the young girl 
grew pale, and staggered back, 

* Fear nothing,' said Ponato, ' it 
is a friend who comes to see you.' 

( But who are you V demanded 

' I will tell you in a moment.' 

Stella was eighteen years of agG, 
as Grimani had said ; she was sniall 
and of dark complexion, and her 
brown locks enframed her face sym- 
metrically. It was a long time since 
she had been entertained by Seig- 
neur Grimani. Life had sprung up 
in her heart and joy had entered it 
only when she had met the youth- 
ful Andre'a Steno. She had seen 
him pass one day under her win- 
dows, and that had sufficed. There 
is no need of relating how Steno 
contrived to introduce himself into 
the palace Grimani, nor how he hac 



resorted thither in order to see 
Stella ; it is the story of all lovers. 
During the first periods, the mem- 
bers of the Steno family had made 
some objections. Stella was not 
the daughter of Seigneur Grima- 
ni; they feared an iiifreior alli- 
ance ; but Andre'a's mother, see- 
ing with what holy devotion her 
son loved the orphan of the palace 
Grimani, still preferred seeing hjm 
marry beneath himself to seeing 
him die. Moreover, (and it is well 
to note this,) in order to reassure 
the just scruples of the members of 
tis family, Andre'a had obtained of 
his two friends, Pierre Candieno 
and Jacob Cancillieri, that they 
phould place themselves on an equal 
footing, and solicit Stella's hand at 
the same time. As soon as the 
3teno's had learned that the Can- 
dieno's and Cancilheri's were rais- 
ing pretensions to the orphan's 
hand, their honor appeared secure 
to them and they said nothing more. 

1 You have presented yourself in 
the name of Andre'a/ soon resumed 
the young girl ; ' that name^alone 
could open this door to you. But 
allow me to wonder why Andre'a 
does not accompany you, if the sub- 
ject on which you have to converse 
with me, is of so great importance.' 

' At this very moment/ objected 
Donato, < Seigneur Andre'a is la- 
bouring under the impossibility of 

* Could he be siek V 

( He is wounded !' 

' He has been fighting,' cried the 
young girl, clasping her hands with 
terror,. The Captain smiled. 

' Oh ! reassure yourself/ said he, 
' Andre'a's wound is little severe, 
and in a few days he will be per- 
fectly restored.' 

< But what has befallen him at 

last ? You know him, you were 

his second perhaps ?' 

' Better than that — his adversa- 
v 7 J 

• Yqu ! — and where is Seigneur 
Andre'a at this moment ? 

* At my lodgings.' 

' I do not understand.' 

' I will explain myself. But par- 
don ! what I have to tell you will 
perhaps be long. Take a seat near 
this window, and, in the name of 
your mother, listen to me with re- 
ligious attention.' 

' My mother !' murmured Stella, 
seating herself in surprise. ' Speak ! 
speak ! I am listening to you.' 

The Captain placed himself beside 
the young girl — he was strongly 
moved. He collected himself some 
moments and began : 
( To be concluded in the next Number.') 

" This is the pictur'd likeness of my love : 

How true to life ! It seems to breathe and move ; 

Fire, love, and sweetness o'er each feature melt ; 

The face expresses all the spirit felt ; 

Here, while I gaze within those large, dark eyes, 

I almost see the living spirit rise ; 

While lights and shadows, all harmonious, glow, 

And heavenly radiance settles on that brqw. 

And then that mom th I — how tranquil its reppse ; 

Sleeping in fragrance, like a sleeping rose ; 

It seems the ruby gate of love and bliss, 

JuBt form'd to murmur Bighj, to smile, aid k.'si I 




Leva I what can I say at this very late, day 

On ft subject which roused father Hoiri'er to ring, 
Which bards one and all, both the great and the 

From the earliest times have delighted to ring ? 
Ah 1 the melodies roll from their homes in the soul, 

When the bosom is lit with the ray from above, 
And the poet shall still with his symphonies thrill, 

When he touches his lyre to Beauty and Love. 

Yes, the heavenly flame Btill kiudfes the same 

In the hearts of poor mortals as blazed it of yore, 
The story is old and great Virgil has told 

But the tale that his master narrated before, 
The passions that tossed Paris' breast when he crossed 

The white billows, drove Dido to enter the grot, 
And thy Love-god to-day on the same strings will 

Which he played on of eld which he has not forgot. 

The youth and the maid wili still meet 'neath the 

Of the tryst tree and vows of their constancy plight, 
Skill Love's magic is felt and the fond heart shall melt, 

And dissolve in the dreams of extatic delight ; 
Still the half-suppressed sigh and the warm beaming 

Shall speak in a language that words may not tell, 
And the gentle caress of the form that we press, 

Shall wave round the spirit an exquisite spell. 

B»t alas 1 while we sup from the joy giving cup, 

We find that our pleasures are mingled with pain ; 
<Jrim Jealousy fears eVen while the warm tears 

Of the loved one at parting are streaming like rain, 
While the bosom is pressed to the wild throbbing breast 

And we di ink the delights that distill from her 
That another tastes bliss in the same thrilling kiss, 

That another encircles our love in his arms. 

But these cares shall all pass like the dew from the 

When the witchcraft of whiskey entrances the brain, 
And without an alloy shall the rich golden joy 

Swell the spirit to rapture again and again. 
Then fill to the brim fill your glasses to him, 

Who discovered to mortals this magical bowl, 
And whenever we think of his name let us drink 

In our full flowing bumpers, repose to his soul-. 

0, Whiskey can glad the poor heart that is sad 

With the sorrows and cares that Love brings in i 
So we never will whine, we wiH never repine, 

For we still have one pleasure unminglcd with pals 
Since Love lasts but a day let us sip while we may, 

And he blest as the gods with the loved-one so dear, 
And while offerings we bring, our voices shall ring, 

To Whiskey and Love in a thrice given cheer. 



It is impossible to give a thorough 
review of the book before us within 
the limits which must confine our 
remarks. Not that the characters 
are so varied, or the plot so artful- 
ly conducted ; but the former are 
so numerous, and the latter so ex- 
tensive, that the task would be al- 
most equal to that of discussing 
several works at once. 

The opening chapters of " Moss* 
Side " did not augur well for the 
remainder. We feared we would 
hear " heart-strings cracking," see 
" the proud lady curve her pale thin 
lips in scorn," or " sweep from the 
chamber," or follow with our eyes 
" that tall dark form" as he "strides 
in desperation down the aisle" or 
" instills his Own spirit into his gal- 
lant steed " and dashes along in 
maddened fury at the imminent risk 
of breaking his neck j all of which 
follows very naturally in the event 
that aforesaid female has made a 
slight faux pas, or if her rival has 
succeeded in winning away he* 
lover; or in the gentleman's case, 

*By Marion Harland ; Derby & Jackson publisher^ 
i 119 Nassau Street, New York. 



When he might console himself with 
the cheering thought that the very- 
tender sex exceeds in population 
the more robust,and he fails to do so. 
There were various reasons which 
fed us to believe that something 
of this nature awaited us. 

The story begins decidedly on the 
melancholy order. Louise, who is 
going to be married, invites her old 
schoolmate, Grace, to visit her. — 
Grace complies. She converses 
awhile with her friend, and relapses 
into 'her inveterate practise of dream- 
ing." These dreams, thought we 
to ourselves, boded no good, still 
i less that owl-note which Grace — 
»who tells the story — piped. "As 
i she, Louise, stood brushing lightly 
the flounces of her wedding-robe, 
i the veil, with its chaplet of orange 
j blossoms placed upon her head, I 
thought how pagan priests decked 
the choicest of their flock with rib- 
) bands and garlands, and then led 
I them to the sacrificial altar." This 
; croak, we say, sounded ominous ; 
,i nothing had preceded to give the 
least occasion for it, but on the eon- 
,1 trary, to others than herself, it 
i seemed as if " all went merry as a 
J iharriage bell." Then there seems 
|i io be such an ennui continually 
I. hanging about Grace, that we were 
;i almost justified for this, if for do 
r Other reason, in supposing that a 
u tale of woe " was before us. The 
finale was not exactly what we ex- 
pected. But let us not anticipate. 

We learn from Louise "Wynne's 
conversation with Grace Leigh that 
she was going to marry a man, 
whom so far from loving, was in 
her, ^Louise's opinion, too contemp- 
tible to be worth a moment's no- 
tice. She had loved a medical stu- 
dent ; but her mother, a very ac- 
complished lady of the " Mrs. Mer- 
dle" school, had put a stop to all 
such illicit proceedings, with fine 
tact, and succeeded in driving off 
poor medical student, in breaking 
Louise's heart, but not her spirit, 
and at length in negotiating a trea- 
ty in behalf of her dearly beloved 
daughter with a millionaire, who 
rejoiced in the name of David Wil- 
son. After the celebration of the 
nuptials, a tour of course is to be 
made. Accompanied by Grace and 
her brother, Mary Seaton and Her- 
bert Wynne — an adopted brother 
of Louise — the married couple set 
out first for the "White mountains, 
go the ordinary round, and con- 
cluded with Niagara. Grace Leigh 
then returns to her home, Moss- 
Side, whence the title of the story, 
where we will leave her for awhile 
and enlarge on the foregoing sy- 

A few lines will amply show forth 
Louise's character. To say that 
she was reckless would not, perhaps, 
be saying enough ; but add to this 
the highest pitch of pride and yoti 
have an accurate outline. This 
recklessness was occasioned by Ifed 



crushing of her hopes. When the 
man whom she loved bade her adieu, 
to carve a fortune, a reputation for 
himself, he told her to " remember 
and wait." She did remember and 
wait, but not long ; for the news 
of his death soon reached her. Her 
dreams of happiness ended — des- 
pair had seized upon her. Hear her 
own confession — "Deep in my heart 
there is a grave — sealed £aet ! for I 
trampled down the earth myself — 
beat it hard ! No grass grows there; 
no tear eve? wets it; no sunbeam 
ever strays through the darkness 
to light it. My former self is buried 
there with Ms memory !" 

We do not see exactly how any 
one can lay aside entirely their own 
identity ; but we imagine we know 
why Louise is made to do so. In 
her state of mind previous to " bu- 
rying her former self" she would 
not be likely to have seriously con- 
templated matrimony. And even 
after said interment had been duly 
performed, w<e jthink the arguments 
whijeh Induce iher to become a wife 
insufficient to operate upon such a 
woman as sh,® js Represented to be ; 
here they ar,e-^"I prefer an .estab- 
lishment of my own to my present 
residence, a purse whose strings are 
entirely at nay (Command, to depen- 
dence upon a father whom my un- 
ruly spirit has displeased. Marry 
I must, or my younger sister will 
|>ush me off the stage before the 
bloom of my youth has depart. 

Could I remain here to fade anc 
shrivel into a scarecrow-warning, 1 
to Misses Amelia, Marcia, and Julial 
Wynne to shun the calamitous crime 1 
of a romantic attachment?" But 
poor Wilson ! the husband, is cer-j 
tainly the more to be pitied of the! 
two. Indeed, Louise amply merits 
her misery by bringing sorrow on 
such a loving heart. He has a loyal 
one, and although he cannot appre- 
ciate his wife's genius and will talk 
" business," he would willingly su£ 
fer to promote his darling's happi^ 
ness. His delight in the possession; 
of his prize was as unbpunded as 
it was brief; bitter must have beeni 
th,e hour when the truth flashed; 
upon him. | 

The tour is rather tiresome. We 
think too much about Wilson to ad-i 
mire the scenery, and we think itl 
would have told better for the kind-i 
ness of her heart, if Grace had not 
spoken of the unfortunate man so 1 
contemptuously. True, he could! 
not go into extacy at the sight of 
a glorious landscape, and knew ex-i 
actly how many minutes should be 
allowed an egg in boiling; yet, for 
aught we can see to tfre contrary, i 
if danger had threatened he would 
not have been the last to the rescue. 
We would much prefer to have 
heard Grace say a kind word of him 
than hear her tell Mrs. Wynne she 
never painted. 

The driver, too, is more philo- 
sophical £kan the most of his class 



, ire supposed to be ; but let that 
cpass, the party were travelling in 
ijNew England, and Mr. Driver was 
iin inhabitant. 

i The tour is completed ; the par- 
ties return to their respective homes 
u — Grace to Moss-Side — and hence- 
forth becomes the heroine. She 
'das rather a dreary time of it here, 
*ibr we can gather from her own 
Confessions that she had lost her 
taeart — to use a vulgar expression— 
^dmewhere in the White mountains, 
ifljid that Herbert Wynne, a kingly 
booking fellow — over six feet — 
'(strange that these fortunate indi- 
viduals most always be a trifle over 
hix,) is the possessor. She beguiles 
the tedium of her hours in the com- 
spany of her father, Mr. Leigh, a 
l^ne Virginia gentleman of the old 
School, and her aunt, a kind-heart- 
led lady of severe manners. Occas- 
ionally she sees Mr. Peyton, who 
would make a good partner in the 
jfirm of " Cheeryble Brothers," and 
jthen there is Mrs. Bell and her 
idaughter, pleasant neighbors, and 
softener than agreeable Mr.. Town- 
dey and his three spinster sisters 
,;eall over. Judy, the oldest of the 
^female trio, is rough but she has a 
■ manly heart. Here again we think 
iHiss Grace is too severe. She seems 
[to sneer as the honest old maid tells 
\ H how one of her beets had meas- 
ured tnree feet in circumference, 
•and a single tomato weighed a 
i pound ; of how many bushels of 

butter-beans and black-eyed peas 
she expected to gather for winter, 
&c." The remaining two of spin- 
ster trio, Miss Susan and Miss Mai. 
vina Townley are well handled.— 
We may conclude upon the whole 
that Moss-Side was a pleasant, quiet 
country residence, and that if Grace 
was not contented, it was brought 
about by her own act. 

Mary Seaton pays Grace a visit, 
and brings with her Herbert Wynne. 
Frederic — Grace's brother — who is 
off at a medical college and is not 
expected at home, suddenly appears 
to the astonishment of all, and es- 
pecially to Mary's, in their midst. 
Then follows the noon-day of life ; 
walk8ontho lawn, converse low and 
sweet, and all the delights of love 
making. Frederic is soon the ac- 
cepted lover of May, and Herbert 
of Grace. The parties are all in- 
toxicated with bliss of course ; but 
the joy of Grace and Herbert is 
destined to be blighted. Grace's 
father objects, for reasons which 
appear in the stoiy, and she as a 
dutiful child submits ; and it is a 
balm to her stricken heart to know 
that the arrow has entered as deep 
into her kind father's heart as her 
own. . 

Herbert bids Grace farewell. — 
Frederic marries May and dies not 
long after. Grace struggles on, and 
finds consolation to her bruised 
spirit in educating the motherless 
daughter of her oldest brother, Ed- 



mund. She adds duty to duty, and 
labours incessantly for eight or nine 
years against the storm. She ac- 
companies her invalid aunt to New 
Tork where she again sees her oki 
acquaintances. May, as genial and 
light hearted as ever, notwithstand- 
ing the death of her husband ; Mrs. 
Wynne as polite and wordly as for- 
merly ; and Louise fully given up 
to Satg,n ; entertaining at her levee 
poets and critics, ruining her. son, 
leading poor Wilson, whose heart 
she broke long ago, a dog's life of 
i,t, and wielding her pen in behalf 
of " woman's rights. " Herbert 
Wynne j& in the city ; but the day 
that Grace discovers it, he sails for 
California. Grace returns to Moss- 
Side with a heavy heart. Her aunt 
has died in the city, having taken 
a relapse at the sight of her betray- 
er, whom she accidentally encoun- 
tered. Grace hears the story of 
her aunt's wrongs, and is nerved to 
bear her own sorrows more wo*- 
manly. She pursues her regular 
routine of domestic duties as before, 
and the monotory of her life is rare- 
ly interrupted,until Herbert Wy n n e, 
when the obstacles to their union 
had been removed, comes at last 
and claims Grace for his bride. 

The story begins with Louise, 
(who seems to be the heroine,) and 
when we are fairly interested in her 
history, we are carried away off to 
Moss-Side, to hear Grace's tale of 
joy and sorrow. We would not, 

perhaps, be justified in saying tha* 
Louise has no connection with the. 
main plot, and that her doings 
mjght as well be narrated in another 
book, so far as anything else in the 
story is concerned, because the title 
of the work is Moss-Side, and any- 
thing in any manner connected with 
Moss-Sida is relevant. 

The story is too long. The in- 
tervals between the more active 
parts are sometimes heavy. It is 
true, the persons introduced are 
numerous enough to carry out an 
extensive plot and render it inter- 
esting ; hut their diversity of char- 
acter is not sufficient. The inter- 
vals have scarcely anything to en- 
liven their dreariness ; occasionally 
there is a death — there are no less 
than six in the course of the story 
— which, with its consequences pro- 
duces a little change, then there 
are others scarcely less melancholly 
in their nature, such as an offer of 
marriage from Mr. Townley, a gen- 
tleman of the Uriah Heep school, 
though not quite so " unable," and 
a narrow escape from drowning, 
followed by illness. 

We have somewhat against oui 
authoress, for making use of so 
many common place expressions 
and figures, and occasionally of the 
improper use of words, as for in- 
stance " transpired " for happened. 

We have not time to point out the 

merits — for it certainly has them — 

| of Moss-Side, and if we did, we. 



would only be saying what every 
one who has read the book already 
knows . Miss Harland's forte 
. is not description, for this &he 
: rarely, if ever, attempts, neither. 
; is it portraiture of character, nor 
does it consist in, artfully weaving 
a plot, for in the wqrk before us at 
least, there is generally some one 
whose foresight enables him to see 
what is coming, this is especially 
the case with Herbert Wynne, who 
need but .look in Grace's eyes to, 
tell what lis in the wind. But our 
author has a knowledge of woman's 
heart which renders hex deservedly 
popular. She has a womanly heart 
herself and caji picture it rigbt 
well. Whether her sisters of the 
softer sex will love her better for 
revealing certain secrets of the fe- 
male breast, may be a question ; 
certainly we are thankful for all 
the revelations s,he may favour us, 
with touching that " frail and fickle 
thing." Hear what she says, tremb- 
ling man, and take, courage ; hear 
what she s.ays, fair reader, and deny 
it if you can. 

When Grace's, protege declared 
her intention of living single, her- 
aunt — Grace— .-thus replies l " Ex- 
cuse me, my dear, for correcting 
you, whatever you may have be- 
lieved were your intentions, you 
deceived yourself if you imagined 
they were to remain as you are and 
Where you are. Every girl — I do 
.not believe there has ever been an 

exception — thinks of marriage ;-*- 
that is, a marriage of affection, as 
a desirable and probable event.-— 
This is not the language which oth- 
ers would use to you, but it is the 

Get Moss-Side and read it fop 
yourself, gentle reader. We recom- 
mend i|; not because the writer is a 
Southern lady, and the scene is 
ehiefly in the old Dominion, but o:q 
account of its own intrinsic value. 
If you should happen, in vacation, 
which is here now, to be alone with 
a particular individual, when the 
skies, seemed brighter than usual, 
and the moon and stars shone to 
you with a double lustre, and you 
were fast sinking in£o, that delight- 
ful dream-land of love, it would not 
be the worse for yo,u, should you, 
remember some of Herbert Wynne's. 
ideas,, and how the heart of Grace 
was taken prisoner. D. 


Scarcely had the creaking fire, 
which a few moments ago seemed 
to make life cheerful, and con- 
sole the despondency of drooping, 
souls, changed its garb of lurid 
brightness for that of a pallid hue, 
when I discarded the favorite bibb, 
for a glass of the more invigorat- 
ing stimulus., and concluded to re- 
retrace my steps to an old friend 
whose hamlet was not far distant. 
I closed my door, bidding adieu 



to my domicil till the hour of re- 
pose should arrive, thinking no ob- 
noxious stranger would dare in- 
trude so early in the night, and 
deeming it necessary to pocket the 
key, I made my onward march- 
battling with effects in vain at- 
tempt. But before reaching the 
destined spot I paused to admire 
the workings of "nature and na- 
ture's God." 

The moon shone in ail her re- 
splendent lustre : the twinkling 
stars with wanton smiles asks to 
welcome each its wayward pilgrim ; 
and old night seemed hushed in the 
stillness of silence. 

Immediately on finding myself 
indulging in such poetic reveries, I 
pushed away lest romantic ideas 
would gain the ascendency of my 
visit. ', A few moments more and I 
am there, seated by the side of mine 
grateful host. 

1 Why Bill, what in the d — 1 made 
you so late ? — for the last two hours 
I have been saving that old jug sit- 
ting there, without uncorking, look- 
ing every minute for you ? Come 
let us broach her, before it gets too 

1 Here is at you, ,Dabbs/ says I, 
with an air of nonchalance. So up 
it went, and clown she goes, v.ntil 
the last drop of that fatal beverage 
told the doleful tale that we were 

Dabbs, as he was wont to call 
himself, was evidently the nonpareil 

of college. Of evenings when all 
faces looked gloomy and sad, Dabb's 
was sure to have a dozen or so col- 
lected round, basking in the sunny 
smiles of his facetious style, while 
branching off on some far-fetched 
flight, would so far transcend the 
bounds of this world, that inevita- 
bly before winding up, he would 
find himself in the pale realms of 

On emptying the jug, Babbs, with 
a smile, of how-come-you-so, pro- 
posed smoking. I acceded, with 
the proviso that my friend, whom 
I left at my room, should be one of 
the number. It being granted, I 
straight-way 'made my exit for bibb 
which pleased D. much, as it was a 
general rumor, about and through 
College, that Bibb had arrived in 
town, and was kept concealed the 
greater part of his time, for what' 
purpose no one but intimate ac- 
quaintance knew. 

Soon I returned, after unloading 
my stomach of the preying burden, 
a little previous taken under the 
semblance of an antidote. But to 
his extreme surprise, and my con- 
vulsed fit of laughter, Dabbs ad- 
mitted he was chawed, and instead 
of a puerile form, whose modesty 
and sedative habits, veiled him from 
public vision, who chose rather to 
share with the beast in the forest 
wilds, the craggy rocks of a mo- 
nastic life, and reign Crusoe of his 
selected hermitage, 



Dabbs' dilated oculi came in con- 
tact with a wooden pipe, made and 

known in A , by the immortal 

B . 

Well, says he, after gaining a lit- 

: tie composure and renewing the 

dying fire, while lightning flashes 

of electric indignation illumined his 

inmost being, '• so long as you are 

determined to tantalize with my 

duplicity by presenting such horrid 

deformities, ('pointing to the pipe,) 

I am induced to narrate to you in 

'return, as briefly and accurately as 

: a laconic style will admit, without 

( doing myself injustice, my autobi- 

i Ography — passing over the worse 

; and leaving you to judge of my 


4 Glad am I, Dabbs, and ever 
thankful will 1 be to you, for in- 
trusting to my bosom the secrets 
of your confiding heart, and no im- 
position will 1 think too embarras- 
sing to check my unbridled dispo- 
sition, should you deem it necessary 
that it be empaled there ' 

' No ! Should at any time neces- 
sity call for the publication of my 
acts, your pen may herald them to 
the four corners of the globe, and 
let the obstreperous trump of fame 
■'resume on them her never ceaseless 
task, until they wing their flight to 
distance that baffles thought.' 

! To commence. My birth-place 
and patronage are to me unknown. 
History and traditionary love are 
dark. With vainless attempts by 

night and day the genealogy of the 
Dabbs' have been searched. No 
clue is given, no recluse allowed 
this mouldering tenement of an im- 
mortal soul. 

' For years I labored under the 
false impression that I bore the 
name of my ancestors; but my 
right name no one seems to know 
or care for. 

' I was raised up amongst the 

family of P , whose charity and 

benevolence will ever have my high 
est esteem, and whom I thought 
were my parents. 

< The time for an education flit- 
ted athwart ray mind, and lisped the 
words prepare, prepare. Honor, 
aided by the determination to re- 
trieve my Father's lost reputation 
(if he had any,) prompted me to 
take heed. 

' With an athletic step and buoy- 
ant heart, while enthusiastic love 
almost blinded by passions infatua- 
tion, swelled high in my breast, 
justice led me to the door of learn- 

* At the back of the room Bat 
with majestic grace the presiding 

" With stature proudly eminent." 

And well might he be termed one 
among the few of our modern lit- 
erati. Versed in all the branches 
that make the man he would roll 
with the eloquence of deep, and 
concentrated thought " homo sum; 
hurnani nihil a me alienum ; or hold* 



ing in his band some profound phi- 
losophical work, exclaim Le mot 

i For three long years I pursued 
my literary course, till one day 
ruminating over past events, I con- 
cluded speedily to emancipate my- 
Belf'from the denomination of sines 
and angles — to lay aside the musty 
tomes of ancient lore — to throw 
off the insignia of a student, and 
participate in the fancied joys of 
the busy world. 

'*■ From thence sprang my ruin — 
that moment bred destruction — that 
hour fixed my destiny. 

1 My debut in the arena of life 
was attended with adverse circum- 
stances. Perv.srse to all the teach- 
ings of God, I digressed from the 
paths of virtue and plunged head- 
long in the deepest depths of penal 
woe. Drinking andgambling were 
my watchwords." 

He paused. And with an excla- 
mation of delight, with a counte- 
nance refulgent with youth's richest 
glow of reanimated beauty proceed- 
ed. ' But thank God,' says he, ' I 
have yet in this shackled frame a 
Diana's heart; a conscience un- 
trammeled by interested motives ; 
a willingness to give instructions 
to erring youth who may now be 
surrounded with temptations flat- 
tering form — 

" Lire while ye may, 
Yet happy pair; eiyoy till I return, 
Short pleasure ; for long woes are to succeed " 

to guard them against the ways i 

of the world, and counsel by ex- 
■'Hi^ie, vvhen words have but empty 

' My advice would be, to pursue 
a course reverse to mine, and you 
will be happy, and finally gain en- 
trance into that " home above, not 
made by hands alone, eternal in the 
skies." But to return. < After 
wandering for years a forsaken 
stranger, with nothing save the 
clothes on my back and an empty 
countenance for a pass-port, I launch- 
ed this frail bark on this delightful 
spot, under the guardian wing of 
my benefactor, with mind resolved 
to do better ; and have, to some, 
extent reformed. 

' If unacquainted with my integ- 
rity, you might, to some extent, 
doubt my tale ; but the reason I al- 
ways seem so lively and alike en- 
tertaining, is to screen from public- 
ity my past conduct and blot out 
from memory every vestige of youth 
by resigning those thoughts to the 
shades of oblivion. From this night 
forward, with an iron grasp, I mean 
to grapple with virtue until I am 
received by her an honest guest, 
and " laugh to scorn" the profligacy 
of the age. 

1 But yet it seems that Cerberus 
has forsaken his infernal watch to 
guard with two-fold vigilance the 
portals of God's own kingdom. — 
Briareus, with outstretched arms 
to drag me to the pinnacle, and 
hurl head-long my paralysed frame 



[own in the bottomless abyss, and 
'■esign to Moloch his appointed 


t He was on the brink of a poetical 
'light when I threw up my head to 
nhale a little fresh air, saw glitter- 
; n"- on the floor, in lambient grace, 
•i streak of light which had found 
'ts way through a crevice in the 
vindow, asked permission to retire 
md return some other time. Sine 

" The sun, the great reaper, had 
rathered his golden sheafs in the 
jarner of the West," and was again 
ast approaching his daily zenith, 
yarning all nature of her wanton 
lilence, when I left repeating to 
nyself the lines — 

" Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be dreaded, needs but to be seen ; 
But, seen too oft, familiar with her fac* 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 


•jweet Mary ! I vow I remember thee still, 

Clio' 't:s long Bince we whispered adieux on the hill, 

ijince we met 'neath the poplar where murmured tht 

<ind passed the bright moments in cxtacy's dream. 

the red streaks of even were painting the iky, 
'.Che brook bubbled merrily, cherrily, by, 
I iChe bird-notes no longer were heard from the trees, 
Hushed the grasshopper's chirp and the hum of th- 

(The sheep-bell that tinkled, the husbandman's son& 
rhe mill-wheel that wearily laboured along ; 
the fire-fly-lamps, and the whippoorwill's cry, 
told the hour when lovers to trystings should hie. 

The little stars winked, but we heeded them not, 
rhe cant of the priest and the prude was forgot, 
Ihe broad silver moon 'gan to peep in the west, 
Bnt I folded her soft melting form to my breast. 

Her heart beat to mine, and I caught her soft Bight, 
The sunlight of h'eavun distilled from her eyoa, 
My soul was entranced by the dew of her kiss, 
Ah ! how could I forego such an Eden of bliBS. 

Long, long years have flown since our tryst 'neatll 

the shade, 
Where the poplar bougha waved, where the silver brook 

played ; 
But Mary, believe me, I'll never forget 
The golden winged moments when parting we met. 

Sweet Mary ! I vow I remember thee still, 

'i'ho' 'ti? long since we whispered adieux oil the hill, 

Since we met 'heath the poplar where murmured tht 

And passed the bright moments in extacy's dream. 



Messrs. Editors : — A short time 
since I revisited Chapel Hill, which 
[ left some twenty years ago. and 
where I now have a son, William 
by name. You all know William, 
I suppose. It is true Jack White, 
(a son of one of my neighbors, and 
a class mate of William's,) wrote 
to his mother that the boys at Col. 
leo-e called William " the bobtailed 
fresh " because ho wore a short 
tailed coat when he first went there; 
but my wife Mary, and two daugh- 
ters, Susan and Elizabeth, assure 
me that it can't bo so, for William 
has never mentioned a word of it 
in any of his letters. Well, as I 
mentioned before, I have just re- 
turned from a visit to the Univer- 
sity, at which I graduated just twen- 
ty years ago, and so great were the 
changes, and so many the improve- 
ments wrought since my departure 
from the " Classic Shades," that I 



determined to write you an account 
or' my emotions on returning to a 
cherished haunt of my boyhood. 

As I was whirled merrily by the 
hack throughyour beautiful streets, 
I was surprised at how well I rec- 
ognized old localities ; it is true a 
siately oak had here and there dis- 
appeared and its place supplied by 
a thrifty elm, a more characteristic 
tree indeed. The dogs ran after us 
and barked just like they did twen- 
ty years ago — the women ran to 
the windows, like women always 
do — the driver urged his worn-out 
jades into a brisk trot, the first for 
many a weary mile, like stage- 
drivers are alwa} r s accustomed to 
do — flip sign, "Fresh Oysters," 
swung lazily from a shop window, 
the identical sign that tempted my 
Freshman eyes" when I landed in 
the same place, green and homesick. 
as Freshmen then always were, just 
twenty -four years ago. I must con- 
fess, that having been at home al- 
most ever since I left College, and 
my coat being anything else but a 
Raglan, I felt a little awkward at 
having the gaze of so many turned 
onmej and indeed, my oldest daugh- 
ter, Elizabeth, who, be it known to 
you has been a year at a boarding 
school, told me when I left home, 
that she really was afraid William 
would be ashamed to introduce me 
to his friends at College, so shabby 
was my appearance. Mary, my 
■wife, who goes to town to all the 

balls, gave me some directions as i 
how I should conduct myself in tl J 
fashionable world, and was quite ei 
plicit in relation to certain matter 1 
and among other things she parti! 
ularly enjoined on me, that if j 
any time in conversation a boo 
was mentioned as being particulai 
ly good, and much admired by tlj 
company, I must always say I hjj 
read it, whether I had ever heail 
the name before or not : and ajmii 
if having been invited out to diii 
I should be asked to partake of I 
dish, the name of which was ne 
to me, i must express an extravl 
gant fondness for it, and eat of 
whetherpalatable or not Elizabel 
also charged me that I must n 
fail to mention to William, win 
in a ty*owd, that one of his mother 
carriage horses (and in truth the; 
is but one,) had seriously injure) 
himself on the iron gate of the }"arl 
and that the storm had blown dowi 
one of the large oaks on the grec 
house, (an ideal creature of Lizzie 
imagination,) and broke down ii 
her beautiful orange trees. Mosi 
Primrose did not receive half tl 
instructions, when starting for til 
fair, that I did on leaving home f« 
the " centre of civilization." The* 
things were present in my though 
as I alighted at the " Union Hotel, 
which has supplanted the " bird < 
America" in the proud positio 
which he held during my Collec 
days. When my boy first reco^ 


[zed me 1 must confess that as a 
, omentary blush flitted across his 
,.)untenance, Iwas reminded of my 
.aughter's parting words, but as he 
jook me by the hand he was really 
Jad to see me. 

J I was struck with the change in 
; ie general appearance of students 
j Inch had taken place in twenty 
-ears. The cut and color of coats 
jad much changed since I was a 
anient, luxurious cloth now sup 
lied the place of the threadbare 
:irtout of former da} T s. Glittering 
9fatch seals swung pendant from 
»any a splendid gold repeater, a 
hing almost altogether unknown 
1 College twent}' years ago ; and 
Ithough from the general appear- 
ince of the students they seemed 
iiueh younger than I had expected 
j find them, yet I soon found 
hat my eyes deceived me, for on a 
iaore close inspection of some of 
he most juvenile in appearance, 1 
ound each upper lip surmounted 
mk a heavy moustache, which you 
;mow never vegetates on any but 
-t man's lip ; but many of those who 
heemed to be grown were remarka- 
bly short of stature, though I sup- 
pose the intellect flourishes in the 
desolation of the body. I noticed 
(ilso another marked improvement, 
l/our students are much better kept, 
■o use a vulgar expression, than the 
)ean lank bo}'S who were my com- 
panions and class mates, not from 
any material difference in the feed- 

ing that I can see, for we were fed 
well enough, but from some myst eri- 
ousagency.spYitaaZEsuppose, soma 
seemed to have an almost excessive . 
bloom of health on their cheeks, 
and red even to the eyes ; and had^ 
any of these rosy fallows been so 
unfortunate as to have been in the 
company of that great and cour- 
ageous man, Sinbad, the sailor, 
when captured by the cannibals, 
they would have required no pre- 
vious fattening, but would have 
made excellent man-beef, if butch- 
ered immediately. You certainly 
must have an excellent posture mas- 
ter at the University, judging from 
theelegant manners of the students; 
in fact it is impossible to arrive at 
such perfection in that nonchalance, 
which is the study of every gentle- 
man, without the training of a mas- 
ter in the art. Why I have seen 
millionaires who would have given 
almost half their fortunes for the 
grace and exquisite languor with 
which I saw a lad of not more than 
fifteen summers nock tl. cashes from 
his cigar. I was proud to see my 
William had made considerable pro- 
gress in this delectable art, and I 
think by another year he will not 
be behind the most proficient of 

As I walked up through the cam. 
pus, and as I recognized each ven- 
erable tree, which had a tale as- 
sociated with it of my boyhood, 
and as I stood by the same oak, 


Vender whose shade 1 shook my 
College friend and confident b}^ the 
hand for the last time, as we p r d 
twenty years ago, a shade of sad- 
ness steals over me as I remember- 
ed the lines — 

-"Spot of my youth, whose hoary hraDches Bigh, 
6w ept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky, 
When: now I muse alone, who oft have trod 
Wit'i t hose I loved, thy soft and verdant sod ; 
With those who *catter<-d far perchance deplore, 
Like me the happy scenes they knew before." 

While engaged in these medita 
tions the clock of my life ran back 
twenty years, and I stood under 
thfi old oak once more a boy again, 
there were my friends and class- 
mates as jovial and kind as in my 
palmiest College days — there stood 
the old buildings, which, viewed in 
the dusky twilight, resembles old 
Baronial Castles — the iron tongucd 
monster sung out the welcome note 
for supper, and soon the hum of 
me ry voices enlivens the scene and 
makes it still more natural^-I walk- 
in 1 " the old room I used to inhabit 
and I am once more a merry stu- 
dent — I see my own pipe, my own 
bed. my own gown, and I was al- 
most tempted to look under the bed 
for my old bandy stick. Yes, in 
that reverie Mrs. Mary was for 
-once forgotten, and I felt as free as 
air again. Don't understand, Messrs. 
Editors, that my Mary is not the 
kindest and most lovable soul in 
the world ; but then, like that most 
excellent woman Mrs. Dale, she has 
her little tempers sometimes, and 

then it is not always most pleasant 
to be near her. 

I was soon introduced to some ol 
William's friends, and I was per- 
fectly charmed by their conversa- 
tion. I verily believe Chapel Hill 
is about to turn out some of th« 
greatest orators, statesmen, and 
poets that ever lived, and I now 
predict that an era in our literary 
history is about to dawn, beside 
which the age of Addison and Gold- 
smith, of Shakspeare and Spencei 
will pale into utter insignificence 
Yes, some of the young men dis- 
play a universality of knowledge 
that is truly wonderful for persons 
of their tender 3*ears, and they 
seem familiar with such a quantity 
of books that it seems hardly pos 
siblefor them to have read so many. 
They discoursed very fluently or 
all subjects. I began to feel a little 
uneasy as one of the most fluent 
directed his conversation towards 
me, not because he was not suffi- 
ciently interesting, but remember 
ingMary's advice, I feared he might 
question me concerning the con- 
tents >f some of the works, which 
J might profess to have read; but 
he, kind soul as he was, contented 
himself with enlightening me on 
all subjects without my participa- 
tion in the conversation at all. Ho 
commenced on the authors of tha 
present day and criticised Dickeni 
and Thackeray quite severely, but 
remarked with a patronizing ai* 



" that the former's style was some- 
what improving," — he called Bul- 
wer a miserable plagiarist, and many 
other authors which I cannot re- 
call received each their mead of 
praise or blame. There were some 
who scarcely participated in the 
conversation at all, but sat with 
compressed lip and rigid brow, look- 
ing down aj if from a lofVv height 
on the ignoble strife of their com- 
panions, and when they did speak 
it seemed that they only did it for 
the especial accommodation of the 
company ; but to my great wonder 
«nd indignation they were scarcely 
listened to at all by their more com- 
municative companions, and all 
^heir sublime wisdom seemed to be 
i wasted on the desert air." 

I accepted an invitation from 
•Borne of William's friends to walk 
up to the library, and wonderful 
indeed are the additions and im- 
provements made in this depart- 
ment since my day; instead of a 
few well thumbed homely volumes 
which were read through and 
through till almost worn out — now 
the shelves are loaded with hand- 
Bomol}- bound volumes w r ith gilded 
backs, and fdled with beautiful pic- 
tures, besides an unusual quantity 
of classical works of Greek and 
Latin authors, which seemed, from 
their appearance, not to be as well 
vscd as some others I saw. I think 
there is nothing in which the good 
taste of the students now at the 

University is more clearly mani- 
fested than in the books which are 
most popular in College ; and look- 
ing over the books in the library, 
Gleason's Pictorial and Abbott's 
Napoleon seem to be oftener read 
than any other works, that is judg- 
ing from the wearied appearance 
of those volumes. 

On my way to the Hotel, the bell 
in the mean time having rung for 
recitation, I had an opportunity 
of seeing all your students as they 
w T ere hurrying to and fro to their 
respective recitation rooms, and 
there are some remarkable chai'ac- 
ters among them indeed, one par- 
ticularly struck me by his appear- 
ance and demeanor, and under his 
arm he carried, as I thought, an 
unsual number of large books with 
small slips of paper sticking out at 
the ends, as if to mark places of 
reference, and he seemed to be re- 
peating over something in order not 
to forget it, which put me in mind 
of my juvenile da3 7 s, when I used 
to say over my speech on my way 
to school ; my curiosity being awak- 
ened, I inquired who this remarka- 
ble individual w T as and whither he 
was bound, when I was told that 
he was one of the smartest boys in 
College, and that he was going to 
recite on Greek. 

There are many other things, 
Messrs. Editors, which I would like 
to mention ; but for fear of being 
tedious I will here close my com- 
munication, and subs"ribe myself 
Your obedient servant, 

T. L . 





I think of thee, 
When from the tree, 
The nightingale 
Pipes to the vale. 
When think'st of me r 

I think of thee, 
Alung the lea, 
At even-tide, 
By Btreamlet's side. 
Where think'st of me f 

I think of thee 
With troubled sea, 
Of anxious fears 
And warmest tears. 
How tli ink'st of me f 

0, think of me, 
Till wedded wo, 
In brighter day I 
Tnough far away. 
Think I of thee. 


-, N. C, Sept. 1, '57. 

Messrs. Ee>itors : — I happen to 
be a denizen of the unfortunate vil- 
lage whose Fourth of July festivi- 
ties received such a " showing up" 
in Timothy Longbottom's commu- 
nication in the last number of your 
Magazine. As you may suppose. 
the Magazine, with its sudden and 
little anticipated revelations pro- 
duced some excitement among the 
"old," as well as the " young folks 
at home." As for myself, I seri- 
ously meditated thoughts of re- 
venge, for having been a prominent 
actor on the occasion referred to, I 
imagined myself no less conspicu- 
ous in Mr. "Longbottom's descrip- 
tion. Accidents, however, having 
thrown into my possession a note 
from a young lady of our town 

to her friends, I determined to send 
it to you with a request to publish 
it for Mr. L s express benefit. As 
he can but be desirous to ascertain 
how both himseif and his effusion' 
stand in the estimation of our lair 
critics. Should my "impudence" 
offend the lady in consideration, I 
can surely plead an illustrious pre* 
cedent. Respectfully, 

* * *^ 

Dear Jane: — Well! now, isn't it too bad I Only 
think those naughty Chapel Hill boys have stolen and 
published some of our little notes, and with names in 
full, in their Magazine I Private correspondenc<>, too! 
My patience! Patience, indeed! I haven t a bit — it 
has all evaporated. But — have you seen the last Mag- 
azine ? Do come to see me — corue right along now, 
and let's talk it all over. I'm so vexed 1 cunt write. 
I'm 'most ready to cry in very anger. I've a great mind 

to . But never mind — come on and help me to 

devise some plan of revenge. 1 think we will match 
the impudent scamps yet. We'll show them that 
" woman's wit " is quite equal to the wisdom of a set 
of poetry-spouting, cigar-puffing fallows ! 

Who could have written that letter to the Editors 1 
" Timothy Longbottom, Gent ! I" he signs himself. A 
fictitious name, of course. I can't believe that any of 
" our '* gentlemen could have been guilty of perpetrat- 
ing such — as the author would impress. Longbottom. 
Can it be that long-legged, hook-nosed Senior ? Ha 
with thejetty curls ami slender m iustache? Isuspect 
he is the very fellow ! and I ve placed his name already 
on my black list* — your fancy for " flowing curls and 
light moustache " to the contrary, notwithstanding. 
But, in the first place, how did he get possession of the 
note? Did you not, with your usual carelessness drop 
it into that little work basket ot yours, which Cousin 
Hal fancies himself privileged to examine, with his 
insatiable curiosity ? And could he turn rebel and 
betray us, when wo flattered ourselves we had him so 
completely under our thumb ? 

Oh! I'm so sorry it has commenced t.aiaiug. and 
these miserable streets are bo muddy. But I'll send 
over the Magazine with some passages maik'J ia the 
editorial. Such silly trash ! Those yi ungmen ought 
to be ashamed to edit such a publication. Poor fellows I 
Their publishers press them hard for copy, I know.— 
No wonder they wi re so solicitous for us to become 

* It will not be necessary to explain this to fashion- 
able young ladies, for every one is possessed of ?uch a 
list ; but for the benefit of uninitiated w willftat , that 
it is a list which ladies keep of all the gentlem n who 
have at any time addressed them, and each is held in 
f he estimation of her companions acrordmg to the 
length of her list, it is not surprising then that each 
should endeavor to make her list as long as possible. 



contributors. But I would not condescend to write 
for such a sheet, not I. Oh, dear! I've written nntil 
my passion has subsided, and I fe«l better now. Do 
write me a few words, and let me know how you pass 
this dreary, rainy evening. Will we have to forego 
our gallop over the hills to-morrow ? I fear we shall 
— this provoking rain. I hope there'll b» no prying 
Timothy to interrupt this. 

In haste, yours, in a " peck of trouble," 
P. S. — Oh ! Jane, I've just guessed who it must be. 
Jbro White — nobody else ! He got possession of that 
unfortunate note (in some " honorable way," no doubt 
— perhaps half a dozen marbles to our sable Mercury 
f aid for the " honorable " peep.) and not fancying the 
epithets therein applied to him, took hie revenge by 
publishing it, and at the same a distorted 
description of our well-conducted party. And we've 
both been trying to catch him for the la»t year ! — 
Well, it's all up with us. now. 


1 " Of writing many books there is no end." 

Oh ye great authors luminious, voluminous ! 
Yet twice ten hundred thousand daily scribes ! 
, Whose pamphlets, volumes, newspapers illumine us ! 

Dox Juan. 

It seems a strange fact that, when- 
1 -ever any new truth is discovered 
or invention promulgated, no mat- 
i ter how apparent are the benefits 
to be derived, it is apt to meet with 
opposition from a listening world, 
that would fain receive its blessings, 
, but which is unwilling to give up 
i its ivey-clad customs — to part with 
its hoary-headed and venerable ac- 
i quaintances in order to welcome the 
new-comer. As witness of this, we 
have only to remark the fate of 
■ such men as Galileo, Columbus, and 
i of most all great inventors, discov- 
erers, and reformers, since the time 
when the Messiah received in return 
forhisrevelations, a shameful death. 
But no sooner has it triumphed 
over these first obstacles that meet 
it at its very birth, than this same 
truth or invention receives the 

pi'aises of the most incredulous, 
and flourishes in its prosperity un- 
til it is supplanted by something of 
a similar kind and then comes ita 
old ago and decay. The arquebusier 
ai.d other rude implements of 'var 
continued to be used, long after 
Berthold Swartz had placed his gran- 
ulated powder in the barrel of a 
gun, and mankind seemed unwil- 
ling to believe that the walls of a 
city could be battered down sooner 
by cannon balls than by stones or 
the battering-ram, and skillful gen- 
erals still armed their forces with 
cross-bows and slings. But pow- 
der, as being useful in war, for 
blasting and other purposes, came 
at length into general use, and 
hardly anything has exerted a more 
marked influence over the destiny 
of mankind than this substance. — ■ 
Scarcely anything, however, affords 
a more striking example of the 
manner in which men accept and 
employ inventions or discoveries, 
than the art of printing, and it is 
of this invention and the uses that 
have been made of it, that we pro- 
pose to make a few. remarks. 

It is well known to every reader 
of history that, about the 14th cen- 
tury, and after the crusades, a taste 
for literature was awakened to some 
extent in Europe, caused no doubt 
by the state of mind in which it 
was left by those holy wars. Beau- 
tiful ballads were composed to cele- 
brate the romantic exploits of some 
Knight Templar, Knight Hospital- 
ler of St. John, or other brave war- 
rior who had fought and fallen, per- 
haps, under the wails of Jerusalem, 
and thus poetry began fast to make 
its appearance and to rear its long- 
drooped head. And as men awoke 
from the long lethargic stupor of 
the dark ages, and began, in some, 
measure, to cultivate a taste for the 



goud and beautiful, they must have 
leit the great need of some easier 
manner than they possessed of com- 
municating their thoughts to one 
another. In the next century, in 
the year 1440, the art of printing 
was invented ; and we should sup- 
pose that the people of Europe 
would have hailed it as their great- 
est blessing. Not so, however. — 
Men thought it a trick of the devil, 
an ! its author, like most great in- 
ventors and discoverers, was likely 
to sink into a grave of ignominy. 
People still clungtotheirparchment 
rolls, and the art of printing pro- 
gressed slowly ; but it now began 
to be found out that it must succeed, 
and it soon was appaient that it 
might be employed as an engine of 
power by the people. Cautious 
sovereigns with a watchful eye to 
their throne, began to tetter its 
movements, and a free Press was 
one of the principle rights allowed 
to the English people by their stin- 
gy rulers, in order to silence their 
importunate requests. In two cen- 
turies after its invention it was 
clearly seen, that the art of print- 
ing, like gun-powder, was one of 
the chief agents employed in chang- 
ing the face of the world and influ- 
encing its destinies. It had now 
been tried and found successful in 
promotingthe interests of mankind, 
and the Press — its functions and 
destiny, became a subject of con- 
sideration for essayists and writers 
of every kind. It had reached the 
halcyon period of its existence and 
the name of its inventor was al- 
ready immortalized .No one doubted 
that it would wield a vast influence 
over mankind, and while some coun- 
tries saw fit to restrict its opera- 
tions, others gave it almost perfect 
freedom, and left it to exert its 
might for the good or evil of man- 

kind. It is of the free Press that 
-we wish more particularly to speak, 
and to hold responsible for the man- 
ner in which it exercises its influ- 
ence. We have thus far noticed its 
origin, at first gradual and after- 
wards rapid progress, and let us 
now consider briefly its uses and 

It is a very common and true say- 
ing that there is no great good with- 
out a mixture of some evil, and it 
is lamentable to notice to what a 
fearful extent this holds true in the 
case of the Press. As we view the 
effects of this wondei'ful invention, 
radiating intelligence to all quar- 
ters of the globe — informing the 
sun-scorched inhabitant of the tor- 
rid zone of the actions of those w T ho 
shiver around their fires amid the 
snow mantled regions of the north 
— servingas the eye, through w T hieh 
one nation watches the m 'vementa 
and calculates the intentions of an- 
other ; in the face of such facts, can 
one deny that its ultimate tendency 
is to enlighten and civilize the whole 
world ? No one denys that there 
is great good to be derived ; but who 
doubts that there is also great evil 
i to be feared ? 

The invention of the art of print- 
ing had divided mankind into two 
great classes — the writers and rea- 
ders of books. Which class shall 
we hold i-esponsible for the charac- 
ter of those productions wli3'i aro 
constantly issuing from the Press ? 
Both are no doubt to be blamed in 
a great measure ; but we are forced 
to believe that the weight of res- 
ponsibilit} 7 rests with the writer. — 
It is true, that in order to be mo- 
mentarily popular an author must 
cater somewhat to the tastes of his 
readers ; but ought he not to be held 
responsiblefortheconditionof t ie»e 
same tastes? It is the business of 



the author to enlighten the masses, 
not of the masses to enlighten him. 
His is a responsible station. It is 
hisduty to correct the vitiated tastes 
of his readers, and to lead their 
minds and hearts towards that stan- 
dard of moral sentiment which is 
the support — the very bulwark of 
prosperous society and good gov- 
ernment. He must do as Pope has 
said in his "Essay on Man": 

"Kye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, 
And catch the manners living as they rise; 
Laugh where we must, be candid when we can ; 
Lut viii licate the ways of God to man." 

We think, then, from simply defin- 
ing the position of an author, that 
it must be apparent he is responsi-l 
ble for the condition of the Press, i 
Go to the history of any country I 
ruled h}' a monarch, and we shall I 
find that whenever there has been ! 
a licentious sovereign, the literature j 
has partook of that nature. Take 
the reign of Charles 2nd in Eng- 
land, when, as Adam Smith has re- 
marked, " a degree of licentious- 
ness was deemed the characteristic 
of a liberal education," when such 
men as Samuel Butler were vulgar 
izing their intellects, and rendering 
their powerful wit too coarse for 
delicate ears, and we find that the 
Press might then have almost been 
"fitly styled the machine of vice. — 
And why was all this? Because 
the sovereign was licentious, and 
they who would obtain courtly fa- 
vor, must flatter the sovereign, and 
this can be done most successfully 
by writing that which accords with 
his vitiated taste, and thus springs 
up a filthy literature, more deadly 
than the ratal Upas tree, which cor- 
rupts the minds of the whole com- 
munity. With such facts before us, 
ought we not to be constantly re- 
minding authors, who propose to 
enlighten our mind 3 and to guide 
our expanding intellect of their 

weighty responsibility ':' When we 
see the Press degenerating, by send- 
ing forth sickly productions that 
have no other tendency than to in- 
terest for a moment, without reveal- 
ing an}' new truths, affording any 
important information, or in the 
ieast essying to train the mind ; and 
again, by commissioning its sleek 
serpents to coil themselves around 
us, crushing out all those grand 
and moral sentiments which make 
the man, can we then refrain from 
disclaiming against so glaring an 
evil? And how is it to be reme- 
died ? Not by Legislation : this 
would certainly fail of its purpose, 
and might tend towards a tyranny. 
Not by punishing the authors of 
such an evil : this would only in- 
crease their number. The remedy, 
we are pursuaded, lies nowhere but 
in the unanimous voice of the peo- 
ple. While the class of writers may 
degenerate the Press, the readers 
have the power to make it what it 
should be. Let the people discoun- 
tenance these puerile and immoral 
productions, and that class of wri- 
ters which represent Grub Street 
will soon be extinct, and we shall 
hear of no fines of $50 imposed by 
Judges for the sale of obscene books. 
Oh, that the people would be alive 
to their best interests, and by their 
voice call back many of those who 
are daily entering upon an occupa- 
tion that can never suit them, the 
most responsible of all occupations 
— that of an author! Would that 
two-thirds of our books could be 
collected together, and some kind 
Omar would apply the torch ! — 
Then we might not have to spend 
a life time in searching for a few 
precious seeds in such a mass of 

Particularly ought this subject to 
be of interest to us while here at 



College. We have all "witnessed the 
evil and seductive influence of these 
weak and immoral productions, and 
he would be no philanthropist who 
should refuse to warn his compan- 
ions, although he himself he not 
wholly innocent. The author of 
these humble remarks will be satis- 
fied with hisfeeble effort, if he should 
bring one fellow-student to reflect 
upon the importance of cultivating 
a standard of moral taste in litera- 
ture a 1 d of influencing those around 
him to do the same. 


The thought has often occurred, no 
doubt, to many a student as he pours 
over the obscure pages of some phi- 
losophical author, why all this study 
and vexing of the mind ? Life is 
short at farthest, and why fret and 
cloud its happiness with these har- 
rowing mental researches and ab- 
stract theories, that some traveller, 
along the rugged road of science, 
has invented to guide him as a bea- 
con-light of truth that shines aiar 
off in the distance, and which has 
sometimes only led him further 
astray into the thickets of bewil- 
derment ! Why do men compete 
with so much rivalry for the honor 
of a niche in the temple of fame, in 
which their statues may repose af- 
ter their death, only perhaps to be 
soon thrown down and trampled 
upon by some more successful com- 
petitor, who has pretended to de- 
tect their errors and explode their 
theories ? 

These questions may be satisfied 
by putting another to which an an- 
swer may be more readily given. — 
"What does each man's duty com- 
mand him to do while on earth ? — 
Heceitainly has some destiny to 
perform from the simple fact of his 

creation ; for nothing ever was cre- 
ated otherwise. Now, every indi- 
vidual who believes in after-life, and 
is a humane man, feels it to be his 
duty in securing his own temporal 
welfare and eternal happiness, not 
to disregard that of his fellowman. 
Man is not a passive agent ; he must 
needs be actively employed, and 
this then is the only proper employ- 
ment for him, in procuring his own, 
good to have an eye to that of tho 
great family of which he is a mem- 
ber, and of which he should consider 
himself an important member. — 
Was ever a man so foolish or so 
humble as to think that he could 
exert no influence over any one of 
his fellow-men ? — that there wag no 
neighboring plant the development 
of whose fruit was dependent, in 
part at least, upon the nourishment 
that he might afford ? The rela- 
tions of individuals to society is a 
theme too trite to be here repeated. 
It has been illustrated by ever}- beau- 
tiful and impressive simile that na- 
ture could afford. Well might 
Thompson exclaim — 

" Hail, social life! into thy pleasing bounds, 
.Again I come to pay tlie common stock 
My share of service ami in glad return. 
To taste thy comforts; thy protected joys." 

And Cowper, in his "Task," teaches 
the true philosophy that — 

" Man, in society, is like a flow'r, 

Blown in its native bud. 'Tis there alone 

His faculties expanded in full bloom 

Shine out, then only reach their proper use." 

And how is this law of universal 
benevolence to be carried out r — 
How is this fraternal affection to be 
fostered in the heart of every man 
so as to make him live not fur him- 
self alone, but also for mankind ? 
Mind, like matter, exerts a mutual 
influence, drawing together men in 
the cultivation of similar affections 
and the pursuit of like interests, 
and so the contraiy. The cultiva- 
tion of the mental faculties must 



then be the medium through which 
man must exert his greatest influ- 
ence over his fellow-man. Oh, what 
an echo of happiness or misery does 
one pen sometimes find in the hearts 
of thousands who have acknowl- 
edged its influence! Well might 
Byron eulogize his " gray-goose 
quill, " when he knew beforehand 
the influence of* that which he was 
penning ! Little man proudly be- 
holds millions bowing in gratitude 
to him, for some important truth 
that has been brought to light by 
that wonder-working power of his 
— the mind; and, alas ! he some- 
times laughs, iilce a demon, over 
the degradation he has sown. How 
all important is it then that, in 
wielding this mighty engine of pow- 
er, man should obey the promptings 
of a generous and benevolent heart. 
That in the powerful exercise of 
his mental faculties, man should 
feel himself aggrandized in aggran- 
dizing his fellow-men ! When we 
see mind thus nobly and benevo- 
lently employed, then may we wor- 
ship it. 

Now, is there anything that can 
excite men to these moral and in- 
tellectual efforts.'' Certainly there 
is. It is a law of human nature for 
'one man to desire the praise of his 
neighbor. The rewards of his fel- 

. low men will incite men to deeds of 
mental strength. And the offspring 
of tliis is emulation Thus far it 

. is a good in encouraging men to 
rival each other nobly and fairly 
in the field of mind, as did the 

' Chariots of old at the Olympic 
Race. Bat here this good, like all 

' others, is attended with its evils, 
and it is to warn against these, that 
we presume to offer these remarks. 
Man too often sees the prize before 
him, an J strives to gain it by any 

' means, to which the nobler parts of 

his nature are sometimes made sub- 
servient. Envy will usurp the place 
of benevolence, and the competitor 
too often becomes the loathsome 
subject f hate and malice. The 
productions of such minds bear no 
noble features upon them; but are 
poisoned at the source by envy and 
malice — the ministering angels of 
hell. It was this unguarded spirit 
of emulation that wrecked the hap- 
piness of unfortunate Tasso, and 
made him pine at the sight of a 
laurel-wreath on the bust of Ariosto. 
Who knows but that some of those 
bitter effusions of the "genus ver- 
itabile vattim," which seem some- 
times to be aimed at anybody and 
everybody, are the promptings of 
a mind poisoned by this spirit of 
emulation ? It was something like 
this that gave a misanthropic sting 
to the satire of Byron, and a reck- 
lessness, as it were, to the verses of 
Shelly, his unfortunate friend. It 
was this that embittered and final- 
ly tore asunder the friendship of 
the two giant infidel philosophers 
— Hume and Russeau — and made 
them quarrel like children. And 
if grout minds like these are cor- 
rupted by a spirit of emulation, 
how dangerous must it be to the 
hearts of the young ! But emula- 
tion is a something that must exist, 
and all we have to do is to share it3 
good and try to avoid its evil effects. 
Let the student at College compete 
nobly with his companions ; but let 
him always strive to be above those 
low feelings of envy, jealousy, and 
hatred, which can only degrade his 
moral character and mar his own 


We find in our drawer the follow- 
ing verses, which we think are wor- 
thy a corner in our Editorial. Will 



eonie of our female friends be so kind 
as to set them to music, that is, if 
they feel like it, unu if they don t 
they may let the rh rest in their 
" old Kentucky Home": 

Here the trees are green, and their houghs ever screen, 

Our limbs from the sun's hot rays, 
While stretched beneath, we feel their breath, 

As they murmur their whisp'ring lays. 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater! 

May fortune e'er smile on her, 

Oh, may she never know what is to be accursed, 

By those whom her bosom has nursed! 

How pleasant to be laid, 'neath her tall t:«j's shade, 

To while a summer's evening hour, 
To inhale the sweet perfume from the flowers that 

In our dear Alma Mater's bower ! [bloom, 

Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac, 

Here the birds ever sing the praises of Spring, 

And lill the air with their glee ; 
At the merry song of the feathered throng, 

Our hearts grow light and free. 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, &c, 

How sacred the elm, where was formed the helm 

That guides our Alma Mater! 
Its tall branches wave as it suems to brave, 

Like her, adversities billow. 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

How mournful the spot, where her belfry's lot, 

Was to smoulder in ashes ere long ! 
When its voice grew still at the i'reshman's will, 

And hushed forever its song. 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

How reverenced the Hall, where raising all, 

Their thought* to God's abode ; 
The Doctor reads and loudly pleads 

For a Godless, sinful horde I 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

How noble her " South," as she proudly sends forth. 

Her head to pierce the skies ; 
Behind whose walls, at midnight brawls, 

We hide from the Faculty's eyes. 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

Then there's her Ball-room, capacious Hall, 

Where all are want to meet, 
At the close of the year, with the ladieB, how dear ! 

Who show us their pretty little feet. 
Chorus — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

How sacred the mound, where her student is found, 

Reposing in the cold clammy earth ! 
And we pause as we gaze, by the moons pale rays, 

And think of his former mirth. 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, Ac. 

How kind and like friends are those to whom she sends, 
Her pupils in charge, so dear ; 

Though while we are here, they may seem too sevens 

A t parting we e'en drop a tear. 
CHOF.ut; — 

Then a health to our old Alma Maler, Ac. 

How noble the grove where we all may rove, 

Ami list to its branches sighing ! 
And think as we go of those before, 

Who have left their names undying ! 
Choruj, — 

Then a health to our old Alma Mater, 

May fortune e'er smile on her, 

Oh, may she never know what is to be accursed, 

By those whom her bosom has nursed ! 


We have read, with interest and 
pleasure, the fourth volume of Irv- 
ing'sLife of Washington, and should 
be pleased, if space were allowed 
us, to place before our readers a 
more minute review of its valuable 
contents. The volume commences 
with an account of tne memorable 
winter encampment at Morris town 
when, through a derangement of 
currency the soldiers wire unable 
to provide themselves with even the 
very necessaries of life, when for- 
bearance seemed to them to have 
ceased to be a virtue, and when 
complaints were beginning -to be 
heard on all sides, which kept the 
mind of Washington in a state of 
continued anxiety as to the issue,) 
it closes with the adoption of our 
present Constitution, and the be- 
ginning of the presidential admin- 
istration of Washington, going over 
a period of nearly nine years, from, 
the winter of 1780 to the spring of 
1789, the most eventful period in 
the history of our country, perhaps 
as eventful as any in the history of 
the world. 

The reader is introduced to a 
scene of discontent and wretched- 
ness, with hardly a ray of light to 
illumine the thick gloom that hangs 
over everything, or to remove the 
darkness that seems destined to 
continue always, everything is but 
a monotony of woe ; but at length,. 



the scenes begin to shift from one 
extreme to another, until finally the 
glorious spectacle of a newly-born 
republic is presented to him, fresh 
with the vigor of its 3-outh, and ren- 
dered strong by the rough difficul- 
ties that have attended its birth. 

Soon after the French revolution, 
when Louis XVI had been behead- 
ed, some witty correspondent of the 
London Times ridiculed its motives 
and consequences in an article which 
he entitled "The Diama of the 
French Eevolution." If the same 
writer were now living, his pen 
might attempt the same for our rev- 
olution, and have ample material 
for exercising the ludicrous, in pic- 
turing the horror and chagrin of 
Gulliver England at finding herself 
defeated by her Lilliputian enemies, 
and the ravings of some of her min- 
isters when they heard the capture 
of their favorite commander at the 
siege of Yorktown. The American 
revolution may well be viewed as 
a great Drama, teaching the world 
great moral lessons, presenting at 
first scenes of tragedy and blood- 
shed, revolting indeed to humanity, 
together with deeds of patriotism 
and self-sacrifice which challenge 

1 our highest admiration, and closing 
at last, unlike most revoluions, in 

; a state of affairs worse than that 
which has preceded them, with the 

1 triumph of a good and noble cause. 
Irving's task was to write the 

i life of AVashington ; but the career 

1 of the Father of his country, from 
his youth to his last moments, was 
so intimately interwoven with that 
of his nation, that instead of read- 
ing the life of the great actor in our 
Drama, we are carried through the 
history of our country, during the 
most perilous period of itsexistence. 

Washington is said to have objected 

that his biography should be writ- 

ten during his life time ; and well 
might he leave to his posterity the 
care of doing justice to his great 
deeds, judging them coolly by their 
consequences, since it has fallen to 
the lot of such a man as Washing- 
ton Irving to add immortality to 
his already immortal name. In the 
volume before us some of the most 
momentous incidents of the revolu- 
tion are brought to view, and relat- 
ed in such a pleasing style as to 
render it as interesting as a novel. 
Here are recorded the battles v.f 
Camden, where the brave DeEalb 
fell and Gates received what seems 
to be his merited condemnation at 
the hands of his countrymen, the 
glorious struggle of King's Moun- 
tain, the battle of the Cowpens, the 
defeat at Guilford Court House, the 
battle of Eutaw Springs, and lastly 
the siege and surrender of York- 
town, which decided the doubtful 
contest and sent Com wall is chagrin- 
ed and hopoless to his home across 
the Atlantic. 

Nor does the volume contain a 
mere record of battles, sieges and 
encampments. There is the dark 
and solemn episode of Arnold's trea- 
son and poor Andre's capture and 
sad end. The American reader can 
not fail to pursue the narrative of 
events during this period with 
breathless anxiety and interest.— 
He sees his feeble country struggling 
with all its might against the supe- 
rior strength of its angry parent, 
and while yet there is hardly any 
hope of success, a deeply-laid scheme, 
the work of a villainous heart, in- 
tended to crush foreve" all its pros- 
pects of triumph. He is behind 
the curtain and can watch the niove- 
ments of the actors. He sees the 
villainy progress. He beholds a de« 
luded young man, noble in soul, but 
fired with an over-weening ambi« 



tion, employed by the wretch who 
is seeking to assassinate his suppli- 
ant country. The plot is at length 
discovered as if by a miracle, its 
author escapes the indignant hand 
of justice, while the unfortunate 
Andre, whom he has seduced into 
his toils, must pay the debt of his 
own misguided ambition. 

Irving has succeeded so well in 
throwing the charm of his language 
around this sad see e in our country's 
history, that while it is told in sim- 
ple style, we are as much fascinated 
as if it were the rarest tale of ro- 

Nor will the philosopher fail to 
receive lessons of true wisdom from 
the history of our country during 
this period. He will see here the 
groat lesson taught that extreme 
Republican ism i as dangerous to 
the prosper; -V of a nation as ex- 
treme monarchy, as he views the 
tardy and ineffectual workings of 
a weak executive government, pos- 
sessing so little power that its very 
existence might become a subject 
of debate. He will see the conse- 
quences of this evil in a half-fed and 
half clothed soldiery, in the urgent 
entreaties of their commander and 
the cold responses t< ■ th<>se entreaties. 
And as the reader pursues the his 
tory of this struggle for rights, he 
will almost bo disposed to doubt 
whether there was any government 
at all. But the war is at length 
^closed, and a body is selected to 
form a system of government, by 
which all may abide. After much 
deliberation, our present constitution 
is formed, which displays a depth 
of philosophical thought that could 
arise from hardly any other source 
than experience- 
Most especially is this fourth 
volume interesting to a Southern 
'reader, as a good portion of it is | 

taken up with the campaigns of 
Gates, Greene, and others in the 
South. Particularly will the North 
Carolinian feel proud to notice the 
spirit of his ancestors, as given in the 
following words : " It was in fact 
the spirit of popular liberty and 
self government which stirred them 
and gave birth to the glorious axiom, 
' the rights of the many against the 
exactions of the few.' So rife was 
this spirit at an early day that when 
the boundary line was run, 1727, 
between North Carolina and Vir- 
ginia, the borderers were' eager to 
be included within the former pro- 
vince, 'asthere they payedno tribute 
to God or Ca?sar.' " 

May long life and health be spared 
the author, who has engaged in the 
noble task of writing the life of the 
Father of his Country ! 


" Reader, hast thou not sometime 
encountered a starched looking 
quiz, who seemed to have steeped 
his countenance in vinegar, to pre- 
serve it from the infection of laugh- 
ter ?— a personage of whom it might 
be pronounced, as Butler said of the 
duke of Buckingham, that he en- 
dures pleasure with less patience 
than other men do their pains ! — a 
staid, important, dogged, square- 
rigged, mathematical-minded sort of 
an animal. Question him. and I 
will lay my head to yours, (for I 
like to take the odds,)that whatev- 
er tolerance he may be brought to 
admit for other deviations from the 
right line of gravity, he will profess 
a truculent and implacable hatred, 
of that most kind-hearted, sociable 1 
and urbane witicism, termed a pun." 
We agree with the sentiment ex- 
pressed in the above i*emarks, which 
are quoted from the pen ef Horace 
Smith, and contained in that inter- 



eating little book of li is — "Gaieties 
and Gravities." And though some 
great minds have condemned pun- 
ning as a low species of wit and 
ranked the perpetrators of it with 
that privileged class- of gentlemen 
called pickpockets, we feel secure 
in sicfing with the majority of great 
men of former days, and urging a 
defense in favor of what Dean Swift 
jocosely terms the "ars pnnica," — 
which seems to have somewhat fall- 
en into contempt these latter days. 
Why do men object to punning, and 
speak of .ft. with such holy horror, 
AS it it were 

— — <> A monster of so frigltful mehv- 
As, to ba dreaded needs but t<rbo seen." 

Does it dwarf intellect, deprave' 
conscience or degrade moral char- 
acter ? It has no such tendency, 
seven, it cannot therefore be an evil. 
.On the other hand it tends to shar- 
pen the perceptive faculties in no- 
ting the double meaning of words, 
land the judgment 1 in the urrange- 
jmeht of sentences, so as best to con- 
vey this double meaning. It thus 
aiMs a sort of vivacity to the intel- 
lect, and its tendency, if you admit 
lit lias any at all, is a good one, and 
:ii n )t, it is certainly a harmless 
^amusement in which all like to en- 
gage, whose minds arc not cankered 
Jnu yiiiegared by. hatred . envy or 
moroseness. Literature from the 
time of the Apostles down to the 
pi went day bears witness. Some- 
thing very much like a pun seems 
to stick out in the address to Peter, 
when he was told that upon him 
■would Christ build his Church* — 
Ulysses is said .. to have saved his 
life when he fell into the hands of 
the Cyclops,- by passing-off under 
the somewhat absurd cognomen of 
jOutis, which is- by interpretation, 
*}\r. Noman. All great writers 

abound in this low species of wit. 
Shakspeare and Dean Swift are 
proverbial for it, and Oliver Gold- 
smith sought to perpetuate the 
memory of the humorous White- 
foord in a punning epitaph : 

' lire Whitefuord reclines, and deny it who can, 
Though lie merrily iived.he is now a gravt man.* 

Horace Smith, the author above 
quoted, has given us an excellent 
pun ou tho word Orange, in his. 
" Address to the Orange tree at 

< When France with civil wars wis torai 
A. Ill heads as preB as eiiwus. were shorn 

From rural shoulders, 
One Bourbon, us unattarud nlight 
Hath still maintain -d it* regal ii jM 
And held its court— i goodly sight 

To all beholders'." 

'•Th >u leafy monarch, thou alono. 
Hast sat uniiijun-d on thy tliron-, 

Seing the wir r-ingo; 
And when the great Nassau* were scut 
OtnvnlHSS away, (a sad event !)- 
Th.m didst uphold and reuros nt, 

Tu« IIousu of Orange,." 

With such an array of names to 
sanction it, why should we condemn 

I a practice, that is innocent of itself? 

I Then let us, Students, bo lenien* 
towards our punning brethren, and 
still continue to applaud our gjoi 

I President when every Monday iiioril- 

i ing he, like Astrea of old, takes up 
his favorite <■■ Scales and begins to 
weigh the heads of the whole class, 
beginning of course with the White- 
heads and next with the Burkheals, 
i. e. those whose profile resembles 
that of Edmund Burke, and theft 
on to some other Teft'es in the class, 
and yet -his cry is Morchead, until 
tired of head, and Perrying (peep- 
ing) for awhile as if to see whether 
alfs straight, he strikes Wright 
a-head, and Lords >\t for atiiueovef 
the ears of his hearers, when at tl# 



; pound of the noisy, clamorous Bell, 
tiis flow of eloquence is rhecked, 
find omnes exeunt with a " Bush." 
I repeat we ought to thank and ap- 
plaud him when he Wadts so deep 
in the intricacies of thought, to 
bring up from the bottom for our 
(benefit, that precious jewel — a pun. 
If ho sanctions such a practice, we 
striplings ought not to presume to 
despise it. 

The above remarks remind us 
of a dialogue we overheard the 
other day between a Senior and 

Junior. " Bill, old fellow, I tell 
you I've been a martyr to my faith 
this morning." 

Senior. "How so Ed?" 

Junior. "Why, 3011 see it is 
against my faith to study mathe- 
matics, and Dr. Phillips has had mc 
on the wheel this last hour for my 

Senior, scratching his head. — 
" Well Ed, I think the Governor 
would make a first-rate physician." 

Junior. "Why so, Bill .'" 

Senior, with triumphant smile on 
his countenance. " Why he ex- 
amines a fellow's constitutional de- 
bilities with so much accuracy." 

Junior looks disappointed and 
walks away. 

Senior " looks knowing " and 
hurries off to tell it to the first 
crowd he gets into. 

We have received the following 
obituary of our late fellow-student, 
Robert J. Cannon, from a friend,- 
to whom we tender our thanks, 
and which, together with the reso- 
lutions passed by the Philanthropic 
Society of which he was a member, 
aa a tribute of respect to his mem- 
ory, is subjoined. Alas, that our 
pages should have to record so soon 

the death of one so generous, so 
warm-hearted, so beloved by his 
associates, who has been called 
away from earth, just as it seemed 
to be welcoming him with smiles 
It is a mournful picture to contem 
plate — the death scene of one i 
whom the romantic visions ofyout 
have hardly passed into the sobei 
thought of manhood, thus dlosiri 
his eyes upon an inviting world 
whoso beautiful fictions have lost 
none of those charms which stern 
reality takes from them. To our 
short-sightedness it seems strange 
and almost cruel that such should 
be a fact. "But how can finite 
measure infinite"? 


The sad tidings of the death of him, who was but to b»> 
known to-be lured, is upon us, and fills oar hearts with] 

i ROBERT J. CANNON, the subject of this obituary,! 
breathed hi* last outlie 13th of September, in the 20th 
year of his age. 

After having spent four years at the University ho 
took his Degree at the last Commencement, and left 
these consecrated halls beloved and regretted by hit 
fellow-students, and bearing -with him the kindett 
wishes of his preceptors Eager to free himself fioni 
the trammels of College life, and to go forth into the 
world little did: he think, ere he had made a begiuuing 
the torch of life would cease to burn. But alas. Mich 
is the fact — Robert Cannon is no more — his soul bus 
returned to the (tod who gave it. lie returned to hia 
home but to die. Heavy must be the heart of that do« 
ting mother, who so anxiously awaited the termination 
of his college career, when she beholds her fiiat-honi 
in the cold embrace of death. He has seen f>r the last 
time the friends of his youth ; he has bid a final a.lieu 
j to the shades through which he loved to wander, aftd 
through which his joyous shout has been e<» often 
heard ; he has approached the goal to which we are all 
so rapidly hastening. All that remains for fhoee, 
around whose memory his image hangs. Is to imitate 
his virtues, and hope that his soul has gone where bHM 
is eternal. 

Mr. C, though never possessed of a vigorous cunett* 
tation, it was hoped by his friends would, as he gre* 
in years, become stronger, and thus be enabled toUmt 
a life of honor aud usefulness to himself and hie coeo- 
try. Bat an all-wise nd powerful ProrUenee he# 



otherwise decreed end tiue, though sad it is. that he 
to young, so noble and §o generous, now lies silent in 
the grave. 

PHnANTHFOPic IIali. Oct. 2 'th 1S57. 
Whekeas, Almighty God in the infinitude of His wis- 
dom and power, has conirmssica< d Death to call from 
Time to Kternity. our friend aud former ass-ciate : 
' R0BEKT J. CANNON; Therefore, 

l!r solved, That while the darkness of our under- 
standings unfits us fur knowing why this sad bereave_ 
ment has beetrvisited upon us, itnd hismo-e immedi. 
ate friends, we will strive to recognize in it the hand 
cf Omnipotence and to bow with filial reverence be, 
fore the div.uewiodom of the Infinite Disposer of all 
i things. 

Kesdved, That while we lament tho loss of our 
friend, his virtues that but recently shone 60 bright in 
cur body, and the remembrance of whose generosity 
and kindness now cleaves the fountain of sorrow, will 
live beyorjd&is mortal frame aud become hallowed aud 
immortal to the memory of our hearts. 

Sesolved. That we iincerely condole with the be- 
reaved family of the diseased, and join with them in 
the depths of their sorrow. 

Jifjfvhed, That a copy of these resolutions be sent 
to the University Magav.iue and ^omeiville Star for 
publication, also to the family of the diseased. 

N. B. SHANNON, "1 O 
M. L. hUKK, . § 

w. m. cozart, y$ 

N. C. •UUtllltS, g 

J. SuMJillYlLLE, j g 

We listened to an excellent sermon 
on Thanksgiving day, deliverod b}- 
Eev. J. T. Wheat, DD. His text 
was taken from the 100th Psalm, 
4th verse : " Enter into his gates 
with thanksgiving, and into his 
courts with praise, be thankful -unto 
him, and bless his name " ; and, in 
our humble opinion, thoroughly .and 
•legantly discussed. 

A Letter on our file from Dr. A. 
M. Henderson, Salisbury, has been 
unavoidably crowded out. It shall 
Appear in our next number. 


Fellow-Students: The vacation is 
at .hand, .and already are our glow- 
ing imaginations picturing scenes 
of bliss through which we are to 
pass (may none of us be disappoint* 
ed !) during the next six weeks.— 
Already is the smile seen to light; 
up the countenances of a doting 
mother and father as they stand 
ready to welcome home their long- 
wished for son ; already is a sister's 
warm kiss imprinted upon tho 
check, and the hand extended to 
meet the cordial grasp of a broth- 
er, and above all already are seen 
the beaming eyes of her who is 
awaiting to smile heaven into tl © 
soul of the book-worn Student! — 
These are now some of the " Span- 
ish possessions" located in the vaca- 
tion corner of our ardent fancies." 
Jt is to be hoped that with most of 
us the reality will be as delightful 
;as the picture. Vacation — what a 
thrill of joy -does the word bring to 
our hearts ! Could you tell tho 
caged bird that it was again to bo 
as tree as its native air, could you 
bear the glad tidings to the sailor's 
bride that noble-hearted Jack had 
been saved from the wreck of his 
vessel, you would convey but littlo 
more of wild pleasure than deea 
this word to the heart of the wora- 
down Student ! It is true some of 
us are so unfortunate as to haro 
hardly anj- place that we can call 
home, and Chapel Hill, with iu 



romantic lulls and deep valleys, is 
a pleasant place, in our opinion, yet 
the thought of" being free for a while 
and not having our morning slum- 
bers disturbed by the sound of any 
huge monster of a ball, brings an I 
almost equal joy to the heart of "all. | 
And oh, how blissful 'is if to that, 
fortunate or unfortunate portion of i 
us who have. left, our hearts near i 
our homes ! What a glorious time : 
is the uppermost thought in our ' 
minds, and everything gives place j 
to the all-engrossing topic of. con- j 
versation — the vacation. 

Fellow-students, while we are all 
looking forward with so much ea- 
gerness to the pleasant time a-com- 
ing, and wishing ea,-h ether a -hap- 
py vacation, will you consider us, 
Editors, as intruders upon the sanc- 
tum of your thoughts, if we should 
ask you to remember our> "littlo 
charge" while you are at homo? 
It is to you that she looks mainly 
for support, and -vill you see her 
die of neglect or because, forsooth, 
there is a " money panic,"? Con- 
found the money, pani© and all who 

say " panic "!— 4t is a harsh grating 
word, and sounds like a drunken 
man trying to call on the God of 
j Arcadia!, Then, will you all re- 
i member us, especially those who 
have neglected " to settle-" during- 
j the session ? We have had difficult 
i ties to contend with; but we have 
j tried to do the very best we could 
I during the past session, and with 
your support we will'try to do bet- 
ter the next ; without it we can do>< 
i nothing. Promise us this, and wo 
I will all seperatcin high spirits, with 
j the hope of soon meeting again, 
j and as we jump into the " hack" 
and drive off, si.hg our parting song 
with a chorus of merry voices : 

Farewell, farewell, ye classic shades ! 

I "bid you now a short adieu! 
Orange, farewell, thy hills andglad3St 

I cast one lingering look at yoiU , 
Good-bye old "South," thy gloomy walls! 

Will silent soon and dreary be, 
And cease to echo through thy halls, 

The Soph's loud laugh or freshman's gle* 
Farewell, farewell, ye Faculty! 

I'll drink your health, oh, 'tis flrst-rate! 
Your awful ' summons " reach not me, 

So hero's your health iu '• whiskey strait") 
Good-bye good-bye. to one and all! 

Ye dunning merchauts. Wactand white I 
" C. J." I hear your woeful call, 

Bat I'm getting deaf— so all' good nlgL» !• 

DECEMBER, 1857. 


1. "The Tory Massacre"— Pyle's Defeat... 193 

2. Arabia, ,'.- 203 

3. Kights of Venice, :... ..206 

4. "Whiskey and Love, A Song, '. 218 

5. Moss-Side...... ..,...,.., 218 

6. Dabbs at College, 223 

7- Mary, (Poetry.) ! 227 

8. A Visit to the University, .227 

9. "I think of Thee/' (Poetry,)... 232 

10. Timothy— Again,.... .....232 

Editorial Table. — The Writers and Iteaders of 

Books — Emulation, its Good and Evil Effects — 

Our Alma Mater, A Song — Fourth Volume of 

Irving' s Life of "Washington — Something about 

Punning — Obituary and Tribute of Eespect — A 

word for the Vacation, 233 

The Magazine is published about the tenth of every 
month except January and July. 

Terms $2 per annum, invariably in Advance. Any 
person sending us five new subscribers and ten dollars, 
will receive a copy gratis. 

Address Editors of the University Magazine, Chapel 
Hill, N. C. 

•"■fT"" — ~-asa 

iJ |!_yoL..vir 


THE ■ 

No. e. iff J 





1-:. P. BELL, W. Ci LORB, J. W. WRIGHT. 





«— ^— -■- -.£^1*I*l: i 





FEBRUARY, 1858. 

NO. G. 


i Old Williams from Hillsborough came, 
him the South Carolinians flocked amain. 

) marched to the King's Mount, Campbell was there, 
l:lby, Cleveland and Col. Sevier : 
a of renown, sir, like lions so bold, 
e lions undaunted, ne'er to be controlled, 
set out on our march that very same night, 
•letimes we were wrong, sometimes we were right 5 
(hearts being run in true liberty's mould, 
i valued not hunger, wet, weary nor cold. 

t the five Colonels who comman- 
i the American forces at the Bat- 
: of King's Mountain, our atten- 
n has been directed to the mem- 
1 of one, Col. James Williams, 
t the least distinguished of that 
lant band, and the only one who 
d a soldier's death in the field of 
tie. In Johnson's Traditions of 

On the top of King's Mountain, ths old Rogue we found.. 
Like lightning the flashes, like thunder the noise, 
Our rifles struck the poor tories with sudden surpris*. 
Old Williams and twenty-five more, 
When the battle was o'er, lay rolled in their gore ; 
With sorrow their bodies we interred in clay, 
Hoping, to heaven, their souls took their Way. 
This being ended we shouted amain, 
Our Voice was heard seven miles on the plain ; 
Liberty shall stand— the tories shall fall, 
Here is an end to my song, so God bless you all ?" 
Song op the Revolution'. 

the Eevolution, we find a very in- 
teresting account of his life and ser- 
vices, and in Gibbes' Documentary 
History, there are published a num- 
ber of letters from Col. Williams to 
his family while absent from them 
in the service of his country, whicl* 
still further illustrate the fine char- 
acter of the man, and show us of 


what stuff a true patriot is made. 
A compilation from these andother 
sources, of the principal events of 
his life, as far as can now be known^ 
may not be uninteresting to the rea- 
ders of the Magazine. 

Col. Williams was a North Caro- 
linian by birth, and is supposed to 
have removed from Granville Coun- 
ty to Laurens District, S. C, in 
1773,in company with his brother 
Harry. His other brother, Daniel, 
remained in Granville until after 
the Revolution, and then also went 
to South Carolina. 

Diligent enquiry has failed to 
throw much light upon his family 
or relatives. It has been sug- 
gested that John Williams of Gran- 
ville, one of the first;, judges under 
the State Constitution in 1777, may 
have been of the same stock. The 
late Col. Joseph Williams of Surry 
county is known to have been also 
of the same family. 

James Williams seems to have 
been early in the field, in opposition 
to the aggressions of the British 
Government. In 1775, he was a 
member of the; Provincial Congress 
which assembled in Charleston, and 
which, by the first article of the 
Constitution of 1776, was declared 
to be the General Assembly. He 
Avas also appointed one of the Com- 
mittee for the execution of the 
American Association, for the dis- 
trict lying between Broadband Salu- 

da rivers, where his zealous parti- 
zanship brought him at once into 
personal ecarflict with his more tem- 
porizing and moderately disposed 
neighbors. His wife must have 
shared largely in the activity and 
spirit of her husband, since we read 
of herattempting to assist him in 
an affray with a Mr. Cunningham, 
by seizing his opponent by the 
queue. In 1778 he was in command 
as Colonel of the Militia, and was 
called on by General Williamson to 
assist in carrying aid to Georgia, 
and in defence of South Carolina. 

The following letters, taken from 
Dr. Gibbs' collection, addressed to 
his wife and son, in 1779, show that 
he had been in .active service for 
some time : 

'i Camp Headquarters,' ") 
June 3d, 1779. j 
My Dear : 

I have nothing more than I hav< 
enclosed of the 1st instant. As tc 
the news, our army is very strong 
and in high spirits. There was i 
probability ol an action the othei 
day, and it. appeared to be the hear 
ty desire of every man to come t< 
action ; but it was not thought, ex 
pedient by, the General, and we re 
turned to camp. We are now lay 
ing in camp, where I expect to la] 
for several days. As to particulars 
I refer you to Major Gillem. I de 
sire that Daniel will use his utmos 
endeavors to have the mills in tbi 
best order against harvest. J wa 
speaking to him in regard to tryin; 
to plant that field over the road ii 
corn ; but that I submit to him, an< 
he may do as he pleases. I hopi 
that the utmost care will be takei 



by him to save the crop that is 
I planted. My wagon that I rode in 

with, is at Ninety -Six ; send Daniel 
• to bring it home and have it put 
i ander a shed. I purpose to sell it 
' when I return home. I desire you, 
i my dear, to send me about half a 

pound of cloves and cinnamon by 

Major Gillam ; what I brought I 

have used, and find it a greatT help 
I to me. The water is so bad that I 

make as little use of it as possible. 
.Major Gillam has come to bring a 

relief for the men that are here. If 
' it is j)Ossible, [ should be glad that 

you could send me an under jacket, 
:for the two I brought with me are 
! breaking before. 

, I am, dear wife, with respect, 
\ your ever loving husband till death, 

Camp Head-Quarters, 
June 12, 1779. 
'My Dear Son : 

This is the first chance I have had 

to write to you. I am, by the care 

of Providence, in the field in defence 
1 of my country. When I reflect on 
] the matter, I feel myself distracted 
^on both hands by this thought, that 

in my old age I should be obliged 
Ho take the field in defence of my 
'■rights and liberties, and that of my 
'children. God only knows that it 
•is not of choice, but of necessity, and 
'from the consideration that I had 
•rather suffer anything than lose my 
'birthright, and that of my children. 

When I come to lay down in the 
ifield, stripped of all the pleasure 

that my family connections afford 
^me at home — surrounded by an af- 
fectionate wife and eight dear chil- 
dren, and all the blessings of life — 
[when I reflect on my own distress, 
PI feel for that of my family, on ac- 
1 count of my absence from their 
' midst ; and especially for the moth- 

er, who sits like a dove that has lost 
its mate, having the weight of the 
family on her shoulders. These 
thoughts make me afraid that the 
son we so carefully nursed in our 
youth may do somethingthat would 
grieve his mother. Now, my son, 
if my favor is worth seeking, let me 
tell you the only step to procure it 
is the care of your tender mother- 
to please her is ten times more val- 
uable than any other favor that you 
could do me in my person. I hope 
that when you come to reflect on 
the duty of a son to a tender parent, 
you will take every step to estab- 
lish that connection, which will add 
to my happiness j for it is a pleasure 
to me to know that I have a son 
who is able to manage my business 
and plantation affairs. Make it 
your study to be obliging to your 
mother, being careful not to do any- 
thing that may grieve her. Take 
the utmost care of everything that 
falls under your care, so that you 
may receive, on my return, my 
thanks, and have the blessing of be- 
ing a faithful and dutiful son to his 
trust. I would have you to consid- 
er yourself filling one of the most 
important posts that could be confi- 
ded in you; and if you should man- 
age well, it will greatly redound to 
your praise. After these serious 
thoughts, I beg that you will take 
these hints. In the first place, con- 
sider that the eye of God is on you, 
and to secure His blessing is the on- 
ly way to make yourself, and those 
that are concerned with you, hap- 
py ; for to fear God isthe first and 
great command. 

The next command is to honor 
thy father and mother. Now, the 
only way to do this, is. not to do 
anything that will grieve or oppress 
them. Be kind to your brothers 
and sisters, and careful to manage 



the business to the interest of the 
family. Your care and good con- 
duct in the management of my plan- 
tation adds greatly to my happiness; 
and I can promise you, that you 
shall feel the good effects of it, for 
I have the pleasure to hear by your 
tender mother's letter to me, that 
you are doing very well, and busi- 
ness goes on well. I am happy to 
hear it. I have wrote several 
times about trying to get a few 
good 'iorses. I expect by this time 
you have made the trial ; if you 
have been successful in procuring 
some, I shall be glad to hear how 
many, and what sort they are, and 
I will send some good man to bring 
them down — if unsuccessful in your 
effort, no matter. I want Nancy 
brought to me at that time to ride. 
Try to have the mares in as good 
order as possible ; be careful that 
they are well fed ; let them be used 
as little as possible. I have tiaded 
for a fine English mare, which is on 
Fishing Creek, at Mr. William Ad- 
air's ; the order is enclosed for her. 
I wish you could get a man to go 
for her, or spare the time to go 
yourself, as she is a valuable ani- 
mal. If you go, Mr. Adair will, 
doubtless, be saying something a- 
bout her. She was taken from Mc 
Girth* by Captain Moore, and I 
bought his right of her ; she is a 
young, full-blood mare, and has no 
brand on her unless Adair has bran- 
ded her since she has been at his 
house. He took her up in favor of 
Capt. Moore, and since she was car- 

*Au interesting account of this famous 
Tory Partizan can be found in " Johnson's 
Traditions of the Revolution." He was the 
David Fanning of South Carolina. Mount, 
ed on his thorough-bred mare "Grey Goose," 
tie was the terror and scourge of all the 
Whigs, as Was his compeer in this State when 
riding the "Bay Doe." 

ried from camp I traded for her. I 
want her got home with as little 
stir as possible, and branded on both 
cushions with my branding iron ; — 
and let it be said that I bought her 
of a man on Eishing Creek, and paid 
$1,000. My reason for begging you 
to go for her is, that it may not be 
known she is a plunder mare, and 
when we have the pleasure of meet- 
ing, I will put you in possession of 
all the particulars regarding her. 
I shall be glad if you put her to the 
horse as soon as you get her. On 
all necessary occasions get Mr. Grif- 
fin to help you about the plantation. 
Regarding the horses I wrote you 
about, you may either come or let 
it alone, just as you please, as I can 
send for them, if you have any a- 
greeable to my direction. 

" I am sorry to have to inform 
you of the melancholy death of An- 
thony Griffin, which took place on 
the 11th instant, while out with a 
scouting party. Alighting from his 
horse, and leaning on his gun, it 
accidentally went off, shooting him 
through the head. He never spoke 
after the accident. This is the fatal 
consequence of handling guns with- 
out proper care ; they ought to be 
used with the greatest caution. The 
uncertainty of life ought to induce 
every man to prepare for death. 

" As for news, I have nothing 
more to communicate than what I 
wrote last to your dear mother. I 
hope everything will be done to 
have the mill in as good order as 
possible, to grind up the wheat ; — 
and as soon as you can, supply the 
saw-mill with lumber, as L desire it 
put in operation. In regard to 
whiskey, I think you must raise the 
price of it, in order to have things 
as much on an average as possible. 
I think you ought to sell it at two 
dollars a quart ; if by retail, one 



dollar a half pint. Secure all you 
can at £35 per 110 gallons. I am 
in hopes of being at home by the 1st 
July to see my family. I shall be 
glad to hear from you by every op- 
portunity. Son, I think if you man- 
age matters well, and I am spared, 
I can put affairs in such a state that 
under the blessing of God, we may 
stand in as good position as any fa- 
mily in the State. Pray, let no 
pains be spared to make every edge 
cut, and have the crops secured in 
the best manner, as much depend 
on them. 

"Now, my son, I must bid you fare- 
well. I commit you to the care of 
Providence, begging that you will 
try to obtain that peculiar blessing. 
May God bless you, my son, and 
give you grace to conduct yourself 
in my absence, as becomes a dutiful 
son to a tender mother and the fa- 
mily. I am in reasonable good 
health at present, and the regiment 
as much so as could be expected. — ■ 
The death of Griffin is much lamen- 
ted. I hope in God this will find 
you, my son, and your dear mother 
and the childien, all well. My best 
compliments to you all, and all en- 
quiring friends. 

"I am, dear son, with great re- 
epect, your affectionate father, 

The next letter to his wife is from 
the camp near Savannah, from 
which it is supposed he bore apart 
in the unfortunate siege of that 
town : 

Camp 40 Miles from Savannah, 
September 30, 1779 
" Dear Wife : 

I wrote a letter last night to you, 
my love, that gave you the best in- 
telligence that I have been able to 


get. I have every reason to believe 
that the matter is settled before 
this ; and as you may in confidence 
depend that whenever 1 am able to 
get the truth of matters will trans- 
mit it to you, by express. I beg 
that you may bear with fortitude 
my absence; and let us with humble 
confidence rely on Him that is able 
to protect and defend us, in all dan- 
ger, and through every difficulty ; 
but, my dear, let us, with one heart, 
call on God for His mercies, and 
that his goodness may be continued 
to us, that we, under his blessing, 
may have the happiness of enjoying 
each other's society once more. 

•'I mentioned in my last letter, 
about the salt. I beg that you may 
have it well dried and ground in 
the mill, and then you are to sell it 
for one huncied dollars per bushel. 
Let Sam have the wheat sown as 
soon as possible, and I beg that you 
may take a little time to see about 
the plantation, and make Samuel 
do what is best to be done. As to 
Lea ; I hope you will let no one have 
her without an order from me in 
writing, and signed by me. My 
compliments to you, my dear, and 
my children and friends. 

I am, dear wife, with great re- 
spect, your ever loving husband,un- 
til death. 


After the fall of Charleston, in 
May 17S0, Col. Williams, as well as 
many other of the leading men of 
South Carolina, took refuge in this 
State, where he continued in active 
partizan service. His sanguine tem- 
per led him to hope even against 
hope, and in the darkest hour of his 
Country's fortunes, he still wrote 



cheerfully to sustain the sinking 
spirits of those he loved best. Some 
ofxhe more hopeful anticipations 
and statements of the following let- 
ter were never realized, but the tri- 
bute to North Carolina was not on- 
ly high praise but well deserved. 

Camp Catawba, Old Nation, ) 
July 4, 1780. J 
"Dear Wife : 

My anxiety for you and my dear 
children, far exceeds anything that 
I am able to express; not knowing 
your distress but I trust in God that 
His guardian care has been over you 
for your protection ; I have earnest- 
ly requested the favor of heaven on 
you. I have had some accounts 
from you, but they were very im- 
perfect. I pray God that I may 
have the happiness of seeing you 
my love at Mount Pleasant in the 
course of this month, with a force 
sufficient to repel all the tories in 
the upper part of South Carolina. 
1 have been informed that some 
false stories are in circulation in our 
country to the disheartening of our 
friends in that quarter of the State. 
I give the true state of things touch- 
ing our army, and you, my love, 
and all my friends, may depend up- 
it to be the truth. I was at my 
brother's and settled my family on 
as good terms as possible, and left 
him well with his family. I left 
there on the 29th of last month ; 
that day,Major General DeKalb and 
Generals Wayne and Smallwood, 
with the Maryland and Pennsylva- 
nia troops to the amount of 3,000, 
and 2.500 from Virginia, are on the 
march from Eoxbury in order to 
join Major General Caswell, with 
about 2,000 North Carolina Militia, 
and about two-hundred regular light 
horse; on the whole, 7,700, that is 

now in motion, and will be at Cam- 
den in the course of six or seven 
days, which may put a different face 
on matters. And there are 5,500 
Virginia militia marching that will 
be here shortly, (and 2,000 North 
Carolina militia, under Gen. Euth 
erford, that is to march to Ninety- 
Six,) with some South Carolina mi 
litia, commanded by Col. Sumter, 
to the amount of 500, now in cam 
at this place, and are expected to 
cross the river to-day, with about 
500 of the Mecklenburg militia. — 
Over and above all these, there are 
4,000 more North Carolina militia 
to march as soon as harvest is over. 
On the whole, I expect we will short- 
ly meet the tories, when they must 
give an account of their late conduct. 
I can assure you, my dear, that 
there is a large French Fleet and 
army on our coast. I think, from 
these circumstances, that our af- 
fairs are in a flattering condition at 
present. I expect you have heard 
of Moore's defeat, in the fork of the 
Catawba, by a detached party from 
Gen. Eutheriord, under Capt Falls, 
not exceeding 350, that defeated 
1300 tories, and took their baggage, 
with about 500 horses and saddles 
and guns, and left 35 on the field 
dead. Since that General Caswell 
has defeated the English at the Che- 
raws, and cut off the 71st regiment 
entirely. I can assure you and my 
friends that the English have never 
been able to make a stand in North 
Carolina yet, and they have slipt 
their time now, for they are retrea- 
ting to Charleston with all rapidity. 
From this you may see, under the 
blessing of God that we will soon 
relieve our distressed families and 
friends ; so bear up with fortitude 
till the happy day comes. I hope 
in God this will find you, my dear 
wife, and my children all well. My 



compliments to you and my child- 
ren and friends that enquire after 
me. Myself and Capt. Hays, Dan- 
iel and the boys are all hearty ; God 
: be blest for his mercy to us. 

"The uncertainty of your? situa- 

: tion is my great mortification ; but 

i let our joint prayers meet in Heav- 

i en for each other and our bleeding 

country. The Eev. Mr. Simson had 

' his house and everything he had 

' but the clothing the family had on, 

destroyed, and he is in camp with 

me and Mr. Croghead,* and is part 

of my family in camp. Mr. Simson, 

Mr. Croghead and Capt. Hays, join 

me in our compliments to you, my 

Idve and friends. 

"I am with great regard, your lo- 
ving husband till death, 


There is much that is deeply in- 
teresting and affecting in these let- 
ters, when we consider the circum- 
stances under which they were 
written. There is a manly simpli- 
city and an unaffected devotion to 
the service of his country, which is 
entirely characteristic of the letters 
of that day — letters written by plain 
men to their plain wives, showing 
how rich the country then was in 
the best and purest elements of pie- 
ty and patriotism. "Col. Williams 
was a Presbyterian, and like all of 
that faith, his religion placed him 
on the side of freedom. He and 
they thought, with John Knox, — 

*The Rev. Alexander Craighead, the first Presbyte- 
rian Minister who settled in the western part of North 
Carolina, and who had, "in no measured degree, the 
privilege of forming the principles both civil and 
religious of a race of men that feared God, ahd feared 
apt labor .and. hardship oe the face of man." 

' that if they suffered the twins 
liberty and religion either to be in- 
fringed or taken away from them, 
they had nothing left them where- 
by they might be called men.;' In. 
the bloodiest trials and in the dark- 
est hour of the Eevolution, his faith 
uphold him, and enabled him to say> 
with the Psalmist : 'the Lord is my 
light and my salvation, whom shall 
I fear ? The Lord is the strength 
of my life, of whom shall I be> 
afraid V "* 

*To show the character of. Col. Williams' piety,— 
to illustrate the times in which he professed 
and displayed his faith, and to exhibit some reasons 
for the esteem in which he was held in Church and in 
State, besides the signs that appear incidentally in the 
letters given above, we give some extracts from the 
Journal kept by the Rev. Wm. Tennent, of South Care- - 
liua. It appears from the Documentary History of 
the Revolution in South Carolina, publshed by Dr. 
Gibbes of-Columbia,;s. C, that the Rev. Mr. Tennent 
and the Hon William Drayton were sent in the year 
1775, by the Committee of Safety for S. C, to make a 
tour through the upper Districts of that State, that 
together and singly they might enlighten the settlers 
there on their duties to their God. their King and their 
country. Tennent declared the law of God and defin- 
ed the Divine right of Kings, while Drayton .reasoned 
concerning taxation without representation, and en- 
forced the doctrines and methods; of self-defence and 
resistance to oppressions 

" Aug 24th 1776. Arrived in the evening at Mr. 
James Williams's one of the Committee, an honest and 
a liberal man, who lives in; the midst of Cunningham'* 
company : was kindly received and better entertained 
than I have been since I left <the Congarees ; met there 
with Rev. James Creswell, minister of Ninety-Six and 
this place." 

"Aug 25th. Met with the greater part of' Robert- 
Cunningham's company and two of his officers in a 
large congregatim at the meeting house one mile and 
a half from Mr. Williams's on. Little River; Preached 
to a large and concerned audience. After a short in- 
termission spoke for two hours and a half on the ob 1 
ject of my mission to the most fixed people that I have 
ever yet seeni This is the centre of the opposition in 
this Regiment. Therefore, finding that I had caught 
the attention of the sober and judicious, I spared .na., 



In August of 1780, occurred the 
disastrous defeat of Gen. Gates near 
Camden, and that of Sumter, at 
Fishing Creek. On the 18th of the 
same month, Col. Williams, undis- 
mayed by these accumulated mis- 
fortunes, with a band of 150 men, 
attacked and totally defeated a large 
party of British and tories at Mus- 
grove's Mills, on Enoree river, un- 
der the command of Col. Innis of 
the S. C. Loyalists. This brilliant 
action, of which a full account is 
given in Johnson's Traditions, in- 
fused fresh hope in the sinking 
hearts of his countrymen. Gov. 
Eutledge, of S. C, who had taken 
refuge in this State after Gates' de- 
pains to convince then, and at the close made a sol- 
emn proposal to them to send some men (whom they 
could trust,) to me at Charleston ; promised them safe 
%-onduct, and that they should be fully satisfied by all 
the original papers. I conjured them by all that was 
sacred that they would not give themselves up to be 
dupes of ministerial artifice, or the instruments of op- 
position and slaver3 T , and, by God's help, so touched 
their minds that the greater part of them clustered 
around me afterwards and wanted to hear more ; ma- 
ny seemed much shocked ; some declared themselves 
convinced ; others went away silent ; a few were very 


" Aug. 27th. Went eight miles to Ninety-six. . . 
Had a considerable meeting; preached from Neh.2: S" 

"Aug. 29th. Concluded to go to Little Eiv-er meeting 
House, where Mr. Hart had appointed a sermon. With 
some difficulty got thither, heard a good sermon and 
concluded with a touch of the times. And now think 
it Providential that we came here, as some opposers 
had collected who would have brow-beat Mr. Hart ; — 
took the storm upon myself and did som* good. Re- 
turned to James Williams". 

'Aug, 30th. Mr. Williams was so kind as to offer me 
his saddle horse that mine might stay and recruit with 

" Sept. 7th. Wrote letters and dispatched a negro 
man (from Augusta, Ga.,) with the horses for Mr. Wil. 
liams, on the north, of Salu.da,, with ord*rs for my 
chaise and horses," 

feat, was then in Hillsborough, in 
one of a number of extremely inte- 
resting letters, addressed by him 
from that place to the S. C. dele- 
gates in Congress, and which are 
now being for the first time, pub*- 
lished in Eussell' s Magazin e, Charles- 
ton, writes thus : 

" I have seen Col. Jas. "Williams, 
whose affair with Innis, (not killed 
as you have heard, but recovering 
of his wounds, ) was truly brilliant. 
He is gone on with a determination 
to distinguish himself as a partizan, 
and I believe he will. I have put 
him and Sumter, (each of whom 
may be of service, but they will ne- 
ver agree,) under Gen. Smallwood's 

After the battle at Musgrove's 
mills, Col. Williams, after visiting 
his family, fell back to Hillsborough, 
in this State, and on the 8th Sept] 
received the following order from 
the Governor of North Carolina : 

Hillsboro' Sept. 8, 1780. 

You are desired to go to Caswell 
county, and to such other counties 
as you think proper, and use your 
best endeavors to collect any num- 
ber of volunteer horsemen, not ex- 
ceeding one hundred, and proceed 
with them into such parts as yon 
judge proper, to act against the en- 
emy, and in this you are to use your 
own discretion. You may assure 
the men who turn out with you 
that they shall be entitled to all the 
advantages and privileges of militia 
in actual service, and that it shall 
be considered as a tour of duty un- 



der the militia law, they serving the 
time prescribed by law for other 
militia men. All Commissaries, and 
other staff-officers, are required to 
i grant you such supplies as may be 
i necessary. 

In getting your men you are to 
] make no distinction between me u 
! already drafted and others ; and, i n 
i case of need, you are to impress 
horses for expresses, and other ca- 
i tea of absolute necessity. 


It was with the troops raised un- 
der this order that Col. Williams 
joined Col's. Campbell, Cleaveland, 
i Shelby and Sevier, and went to his 
i death on King's Mountain. He 
i seems to have hovered round Col. 
Ferguson's force, watching his 
movements and having traced him 
tio King's Mountain, he united with 
1 the other four Colonels on the 6th 
i of October, the day before the bat- 
: tie. The tradition is, according to 
ithe account in Johnson, that Col. 
Williams had at that time a brigadier 
l general's commission from Govern- 
i or Eutledge. This would have giv- 
i en him the command, as the officer 
1 highest in rank. If the fact were 
i bo, he nobly concealed it, and took 
I his station as commander of his own 
i men, among the independent Colo- 
i nels who fought in that action. — 
' This "tradition" is probably noth- 
i ing more. According to Col Shel- 
! by's account of the battle, the com- 
mand was given to Col. Campbell, 
by courtesy, as they were all North 
Carolinians but he. Col. Williams 

commanded with Col. Cleveland, — 
the left wing in the attack. When 
last seen before he received his death 
wound, he was ascending the moun- 
tain. His charger had been shot 
through the mouth, and at every 
step was covering his rider with 
foam and blood. He had turned to 
his command, and was cheering 
them on when the fatal shot, fired 
from the heights above him, took 
effect between his shoulders and 
ranged downwards through his bo- 
dy. He fell within a few feet of 
Col. Ferguson. Both met their fate 
at the same moment. Col. Will- 
iams was borne from the battle-field 
into a tent. Some water sprinkled 
in his face, he revived and his first 
words were : "For God's sake, boys, 
don't give up the hill I" 

He died the day after the battle, 
and his death was such as became 
the life of the Christian soldier. — 
He raised his head and drank some 
water ; then went to sleep, and his 
soul passed away so quietly that it 
scarcely seemed like death. His 
remains lie about eight miles from 
the field of his own and his compan- 
ion's glory in a grave on the plan- 
tation between Buffalo and Broad 
Bivers, just at their confluence. — 
Two rude stones mark the grave, 
which is situated on the side of a 
hill sloping to the East, and in full 
view of the mountain where he won 
his earthly immortality. "It is to 
be hoped that private munificence 



or public patriotism will place an 
appropriate monument above his 
rem ain s or disinter and remove tb em 
to King's Mountain, and place tbem 
by the side of the brave Chroni- 

Col. Williams' two sons, Daniel 
and Joseph, boys of 14 and 16, were 
both in the action, and were both 
murdered soon after, by a band of 
tories near Saluda, under the com- 
mand of the Eobert Cunningham 
whose queue their mother had seiz- 
ed in his fight with their father 
some yeai'S before. Daniel being 
the oldest, inherited his father's pis- 
tols, and threw them into the flames 
of the burning house rather than 
the tories should possess them after 
his death. One would have thought 
that some old, neighborly feeling 
would have urged Cunningham to 
gave these two lads, and; that his 
old grudge against their father 
would have been buried in his grave. 
Their nephew, Col. Williams of 
Laurens Dist., S. C, has marked 
their resting place by a suitable 

In person Col. Williams was about 
five feet nine inches high and cor- 
pulent. He was of a very dark com- 
plexion with black hair and eyes. 
His nose was uncommonly large, and 
turned up, with nostrils very large, 
especially when dilated by passion 
or excitement: He is represented 
to have been a rough, rash man, but 
at the same time of a remarkably 

good disposition. His letters to his 
wife and sons show that he was of 
a deep and sincere piety which, 
while it confirmed his physical, also • 
secured to him a rare moral cour- 
age. The Eev. S.Balch states that 
during the Eevolution, the Colonel? 
and his family accompanied him to 
the place of worship, and the "Col- 
onel? led the music with as muchx 
ease as he would have commanded 
his regiment in the day of battle."'' 
Among the many heroes that North 
Carolina has furnished to our com- 
mon country, there has been no^ 
braver soldier or' better man than- 
he whom the neighbors speak of to 
this day as "Old King Mountain's 

There can be no difficulty in pro- 
nouncing that if Ferguson had not 
fallen at King's Mountain, Corn- 
wallis would not have surrenderee 
at York Town. King's mountah 
was the pivot on which the Eevo- 
lution turned at the South. It is, 
in many respects, the most impor- 
tant, the most interesting, and 
the most glorious battle in our 
great contest for freedom. It was 
fought on our side exclusively by 
volunteers, without evea the pres- 
ence or advice of a single regular of- 
ficer, and without a single piece of 
artillery. It' was a victory won by 
undisciplined militia, over a veteran ■ 
and gallant commander, who in alii 
the elements of a great military lea- 
der, had no superior of his rank— 



perhaps of any rank — in the Brit- 
ish service. 

The leading facts of no similar in- 
cident in our history are so little 
inown. The British Chroniclers 
i©f that day seem to have regarded 
the " extemporaneous host, " the 
numbers of which they greatly mag- 
nify, as a race of giants, peopling 
the mountain gorges and western 
wilds, whose existence down to that 
time had not been suspected by civ- 
ilized man. Of all the accounts that 
have been written of this battle, — 
the recent narrative of Mr. Ir- 
ving, in his life of Washington, is 
:the most graphic in delineation, the 
i most polished and elegant in style, 
and the most inaccurate in the state- 
ment of facts. He really seems to 
i suppose, for example, that Gilbert 
Town was somewhere west of North 
I Carolina, and that "The Hunters of 
Kentucky" were in numbers and 
i prowess, theheroes of King's Moun- 
| tain. 

No man has ev'er seen — no man 
will ever see — a King's Mountain 

i muster roll. None ever existed. — 
The followers of Fitz James and 
Rhoderic Dhu, with few exceptions, 

i can be individualized by history, 
with as much certainty, as the gal- 
lant men, who answered the silver 
whistle of Ferguson with the death- 
defying shout of Williams and the 
echoing voice of a thousand rifles. 
It is perhaps impossible to show 
with much certainty, not merely 

who they were, but whence they 
came. Col. Preston, in his address 
at the anniversary celebration of 
1855, supposes the little army to 
have heen composed "of men, near- 
ly in equal numbers from Virginia, 
North Carolina and South Carolina.' 
If North Carolina had have been as 
fully and as ably represented at the 
Celebration as in the Battle-field — 
at the feast as in the fight, we would 
probably have had a different esti- 

" Leare slaughter to the Turkish hordes, 
And shed the blood of Scio's vine." 

It appears from the official ac- 
count of the battle, recently exhum- 
ed by Mr. Lossing, from the papers 
of Gen. Gates, that on the 25th of 
September 1780, Col. Campbell with 
400 Virginians, Col. Isaac Shelby 
with 240 men from Sullivan, and 
Col. Sevier with 240 men from 
Washington county, N. O, assem- 
bled at Watauga, where they were 
joined by Col. Charles McDowell, 
with 160 men fromBurkeand Buth- 
erford. They began the march 
across the mountain on the 26th, 
and on the 30th, on the Catawba, 
their forces were augmented by the 
addition of 350 men from Wilkes 
and Surry, under Col. Cleveland. — 
When they reached the Cowpens on 
the 6th October, they were met by 
Col. James Williams. At the time 
the junction was formed with Wil- 
liams, the army was composed of 
400 Virginians under Campbell, and 



990 North Carolinians under Shel- 
by, Sevier, McDowell and Cleve- 
land. From these 1390 men from 
Virginia and North Carolina, and 
from Williams' regiment "900 of the 
best horsemen" were selected for 
the attack, and on the following 
day the victory was won. 

The number of men who fought 
under Williams, will never be ascer- 
tained, and the proportion from 
South Carolina, is a matter perhaps 
of still greater uncertainty. 

The authority to raise a compa- 
ny of mounted men in Caswell, in- 
dicates one element of William's re- 
giment. The father of the Hon. 
Anderson Mitchell of Wilkes, was 
a member of the Caswell company. 

The second ascertainable element 
of this regiment is the sixty men 
under Ham bright and Chronicle, 
from then Tryon, now Lincoln 


The third (perhaps,) about 30 
Georgians, under Major Chandler 
and Capt. Johnson. f 

Th e fourth South Carolinians, in 
what proportion we are unable to 
etate with much confidence of accu- 
racy. General Lenoir, who fought 
as a Captain under Cleveland in his 
account of the Battle,! casually 
remarks that 

"The advanced party of mounted 
infantry being joined by Col. Wil- 

♦Ramsay's Tennessee, p. 284. 
flicCall'a Georgia, vol. ii page 8S6. 
$2 Wheeler's Sketehes, p. 100. 

liams, with a few South Carolina 
militia, in the evening arrived at a 
place called the Cow-pens in South 
Carolina," &c. The South Caroli- 
nians under Williams were doubt- 
less the elite of the State, probably 
from the Waxhaw in larger propor- 
tion than any other settlement, 
and braver men than these who 
with the infant Jackson were nur-s 
tured in the military school of Da- 
vie, were nowhere to be found. 

The Dictator Eutledge was an 
exile among his friends in North 
Carolina, from August 1780, to 
March 1781.* Few men in peace 
and in war ever served a govern* 
ment so well. In September 1780, 
Williams and Sumter were with him 
in Hillsborough, at that time the seat 
of government in North Carolina, 
Their followers were generally in 
our borders. Marion, the "Swamp 
Fox," emerged from his fastnesses 
at intervals, but South Carolina was 
a conquered province, and his th© 
only semblance of an organized op- 
position to British rule. 

*Russel's Magazine for Sept. 1867, p. 604 * 

" How sweet the morn when first it flings, 
Its sun-lit rays upon the flowers, 
And wakes the lark with dew-wet wings 
To chant his song in rosy bower. 

" How sweet when conies the 'night of life,' 
To close our eyes in Death's calm sleep, 

To wake at morn where earthly strife 
Shall cease, and we shall weep no more." 





i Who is she ?" "By Jove a perfect 
^ueen !" "What lovely features \" 
,luch were the whispers which pass- 
id among the crowd assembled on 
he piazza of the splendid hotel at 

; Springs, as a gentleman 

',nd lady passed tnrough their midst 
,nd disappeared within the ample 
'loor-way. They had just alighted 
torn an elegant carriage drawn up 
before the building, and were evi- 
dently new arrivals at the gay Sum- 
mer resort. While they are refresh- 
ing themselves, after their tedious 
•ide, I will answer the first of these 
questions, and in so doing explain 

ihe rest. 

Mary Winthrop was the only 
daughter of a wealthy planter, who 
iwelt some fifty miles from the 
icene of my story. To gratify his 
darling daughter, he was accustom- 
ed to spend much of his time at this 
popular place. Generous to a fault, 
he gladly indulged her every whim, 
and 'twas only now and then that 
he opened his eyes in astonishment 
and made a slight remonstrance at 
iome unusual freak of her mad fan- 
ey. Dignified and gentlemanly, 
kind and intelligent— he was respec- 

ted and beloved by all. The daugh- 
ter was in many respects equal to 
the sire. Surpassingly beautiful, — 
graceful as the monntain deer, her 
eyes flashing with wit and intelli- 
gence, she was the belle of the ball- 
room — the pride and joy of her old 
father's heart. But in the death of 
her mother, which happened when 
Mary was but an infant, she had 
suffered an irreparable loss ; her fa- 
ther's love could not supply mater- 
nal care ; a mind and heart which 
under a mother's influence might 
have surpassed in attractions her 
charming face, were permitted to 
wander unrestrained and without a 
guide. The eonsequeuces of this 
were grevious ; having made her de- 
but when quite young, she soon be- 
came devoted to th eextravegance 
and dissipation of fashionable life ; 
a passionate love of admiration was 
her moving principal : she lived on- 
ly for the world and found pleasure 
only in its mad excitement. Her 
fond father looked upon her faults, 
(if such he considered them,) with 
a lenient eye, thinking time and ex- 
perience would correct them. Here 
I might pause and moralize, but 



such is not my intention ; having 
introduced these personages to my 
readers, I haste to resume my nar- 

There was a ball that eve, and 
all the fair from far and near crow- 
ded to attend it. Never before was 
there such a collection of beauty — 
beauty pale and languishing, beau- 
ty proud and queenlike, coquettish 
beauty, graceful beauty — in short, 
beauty of every kind was well rep- 
resented. But above all shone su- 
preme my heroine. She was in her 
element. With a proud look her 
father dwelt upon her every motion, 
and marked with admiring eye the 
perfect symetry of her form, as she 
glided through the mazes, of the 
dance. At last it was ended, and 
she stood apart surrounded by a 
crowd of beaux, who were charmed 
by her sprightly conversation and 
enchanted by her wondrous loveli- 
ness. Three among them were es- 
pecially devoted, and as they are to 
be connected with my tale^ I deem 
somejslight notice of them necessary. 

They were the elite of the land, 
yet as different among themselves 
as could be. The stalwart form 
and noble countenance of Mr.Fetch- 
er, marked him one of nature's no- 
blemen. He was no ordinary man, 
and the first glance was sufficient 
to attract the attention of all ; al- 
ready had he made a name in; his 
own State, and bid fair soon to soar 
.above all competitors. 

He loved the fair Mary with all 
the earnestness of his deep nature. 
Such men never love but once. 

Yery different from him was 
Claude Dermont, whose slender fig- 
ure and almost feminine beauty, 
presented a striking contrast to the 
gentleman I have just described. 
Gifted with a poet's genius, he 
seemed born for love and happiness, 
and you could scarce imagine a 
oloud seated on that sunny brow. 
Modest and retiring, there was 
something about him peculiarly at- 
tractive which excited the good 
will of all. He too loved fondly, 
deeply — with all a poet's fire. 

. I am at a loss how to give you an 
idea of the last of the trio, and 
shall only say he was the "observed 
of all observers" in that proud as- 
sembly. Eich, elegant and hand- 
some, he was . also possessed cf a 
brilliant mind, though utterly de- 
vo ; d of all sound attainment. A 
perfect "man of the world" was 
Harry Wilson ; at his approach 
your blood would ch llin your veins, 
and his scornful smile made grown 
men shudder, yet . even his ,cold 
nature, heartless .as it was, had 
beeii roused by the many attrac- 
tions of Mary Winthrop. 

The ball came to an end, as balls 
generally do, but it was only one of 
many given 'fthat delightful sea- 
son," as every one declared it to be. 
Weeks passed ; Mary had a wide 
field, in which to display her powers, 



and many a sighing swain confess- 
ed the potency of her charms, hut yet, all had withdrawn disheart- 
■ ened, except the. gentlemen I have 
; described above. With these she was 
-charmed. She was proud of her 
stately Fletcher, who was well cal- 
culated to excite gentle emotions in 
any -woman's breast. The deep- 
tened temperament of olaude struck 
a responsive chord, which though 
long neglected, gave forth sweet 
notes of deep affection, when skill- 
fully touched. 

Sometimes she almost determin- 
ed to give up her mad career of ex- 
citement, and live for "Claude and 

In Wilson she found a congenial 
spirit, who even surpassed her in 
her worldliness. Such was her es- 
timate of her different suitors. — 
What were their several opinions of 
her, can easily be gathered, from 
what we already know of their 
characters .With consummate skill 
and lrypocrisy she played her deep 
game. None had borne off the daz- 
zling prize, yet each thought him- 
self the favored man, and wondered 
why the others did not cease the 
vain pursuit. 

The season was about to close, — 
and matters drew near their de- 
nouement. With confident heart, 
Claude approached her boudoir ; — 
His bosom beat high with hope. — 
Blissful visions flitted across his 
brain,,visions of future < happiness 

never, alas ! to be realized. Already 
he imagined himself by her side, 
pouring into willing ears his tale of 
love. Poor Claude ! He had yet 
to learn woman's guileless nature! 
Yet to learn that she can deceive 
with a smile and betray with a kiss ! 
I shall not attempt to picture tho 
scene that followed. Calmly she 
heard his declaration which had oft 
been made before by speaking eyes 
and tell-tale cheek. She seemed as- 
tonished when he asked to learn his 
fate. "Was Mr. Dermont in ear- 
nest ? she was really sorry to pain 
him, but she had never thought his 
attentions. anythiug serious ; would 
always be .happy to receive him as 
a friend, but — " &c, &c, &c. 

Claude pleaded hard and long, but 
all in vain., and at last he rushed 
forth in despair to seek his own 
room, and there suffer as only such 
can. Well now may we say, "poor 
Claude \" He reviewed his career 
in the few weeks just past, and ask- 
ed if he had not reason to think 
himself encouraged. He examined 
her conduct in their last in terwiew, 
and thought he could detect even 
there, symptoms of concealed affec- 
tion. But how could he reconcile 
her past with her present treat- 
ment ? Had not , her eye beamed 
upon him in all of love's sweet con- 
fidence ? Had not her hand pressed 
his in glad return and her lips spo- 
ken words of fond encouragement? 
'Twas even so — yet that last inter- 



view ! how could he explain it ? — 
He never thought her deceitful — to 
his fond heart she was ever pure 
and true — with him no cloud ob- 
scured her fair fame. Ah ! he has 
it ; some rival has been there, and 
with insidious words marred his 
happiness, dashed his overflowing 
cup from his unsuspecting lips. Wil- 
son, the unprincipled Wilson must 
be the man. He had seen his own 
ill success and could not brook a 
happy rival. His heart leaped 
within him at the thought. Pond- 
ering over his fancied wrongs and 
dire revenge, he went forth to dis- 
sipate his cares in a hurried walk. 
As he passed along at a rapid rate, 
he rushed against a person hurry- 
ing in an opposite direction. 'Twas 
Wilson. As they recognized each 
other, each felt the demon of envy 
and hate busied in his breast. — 
Clande, thrown rudely off, carried 
away by passion, struck him vio- 
lently with his clenched hand. — 
" You shall bleed for this," said 
Wilson, and without returning the 
blow, walked rapidly off. Thus 
they parted. 

Mary had suffered deeply m dis- 
carding Dermont. Never before 
had she came so near yielding to 
her better inclinations, but her evil 
spirit ruled, and she determined to 
live for future triumphs. Fletcher 
and Wilson laid their hearts and 
hands at her feet, but were also both 
refused. The former bore his dis- 

appointment with manly dignity ; 
the latter was touched in his ten* 
derest part. Anger and chagrin 
filled his soul at being thus made 
the sport of a woman. For the 
first time Harry Wilson, the fascina- 
ting, all-conquering gallant, had 
been foiled and out-witted. Mut- 
tering deep curses in his shallow 
heart, he was met, as I have rela- 
ted, by Dermont on his return to 
his lodgings. 

Incensed already, anxious to find 
somo object on which to vent his 
rage, imagining Dermont his suc- 
cessful rival, we can scarce form an 
idea of his hellish joy at the insult 
offered him, which he swore should 
be wiped out in blood. A challenge 
was soen sent and accepted. All 
arrangements were made and the 
appointed time drew near. How 
shall I describe the feelings of 
Claude on the night preceeding ? — 
His was a nature deeply sensitive. 
For the first time he was about to 
lift his hand against a fellow crea- 
ture. If he should fall, what would 
be the fate of his widowed mother, 
whose all he was ? How should he 
answer the stern inquiry of his fa- 
ther, whom on his death-bed he had 
promised to cherish always that 
sweet one ? And, above all, how 
could he brave the dread future, — 
how go to "the bourne from whence 
no traveller returns, " with the 
mark of Cain on his brow ? But i 
he Bhould slay his adversary, his 



fate would be still worse ; the 
■wretched life of a wanderer, accurs- 
ed of all the good and pure, the 
.vultures of remorse tearing his very 
.Vitals ! After much thought his re- 
solve was taken. He deeply repen- 
ted of his rashness, but alas it was 
too late. He would not fire upon 
his opponent, but commit his soul 
to &od ! Many hours were passed 
in arranging his affairs ; letters 
were written to the loved ones at 
home, and a long one to Mary. All 
done, calm came again to his troub- 
led soul — he laid himself down and 
islept ! Sleep on, poor mortal, — 
those eyes, perchance, may close no 
more till death puts his seal upon 

thee, forever ! 

How was it with Wilson ? His 

preparations were made soon and 
carelessly. 'Twas not his first af- 
fair of the kind ; the blood of at 
least one victim was already on his 
hand, and the tears of at least one 
mother were treasured up against 
him in paradise. His fame as a 
duelist was too well known for him 
to fear for the result, and he smiled 
with disdain at the "beardless boy," 
;as he contemptuously termed the 
young poet. 

' 'Twas morning; never rose the 
sun more beautifully, never sang 
the birds more sweetly than on this 
eventful day; at least so thought 
Claude as early he rolled along in 
the hack, which was carrying him 
perhaps to his grave. His face was 

pale, but not with fear, for his was 
no coward's heart. The sleepless 
hours of the last night were marked 
upon his haggard countenance. — 
In due time all reached the place 
appointed; it was well chosen; se- 
cluded, it gave no chance of in- 
terruption, while also conveniently 
near. It was a deep valley, down 
which ran a rippling stream,— one 
of nature's choice spots. Beautiful 
trees clothed in their green foliage 
were there ; the b rds and squirrels 
played among the branches. All 
was peace and quiet. All nature 
seemed to forbid the unhallowed 
deed. Nature's God looked down, 
with anger on the scene ; angels 
wept, and hell's arches re-echoed 
demoniac shouts at man's perverse- 
ness. An awful silence brooded 
over the place. They were placed. 
Claude glanced at his opponent, 
and beheld a smile of derision upon 
his face ; he heard faintly muttered 
the words " Pale coward !'' His 
heart beat quick within him ; his 
hand clasped tight the deadly wea- 
pon. "Would he keep his resolution ? 
The word was given. They fired. 
While the smoke is clearing away 
others demand our attention. 

Mary Wmthrop sat in her room 
occupied with her own thoughts; 
They must have been pleasant, for 
a smile encircled her ruby lips. As 
beautiful as when first we saw her' 
was she then, though somewhat ex- 
hausted by long-continued disaipa- 



■iion. A gentle breeze fanned her 
smooth brow and played among her 
flowing ringlets; her classic head 
rested upon one dainty hand, the 
other held two letters just given 
her by the maid ; the first was a 
note from a gentleman merely say- 
ing he had been requested to for- 
ward the other. She glanced at 
the direction. " Ah ! poor olaude, 
I do believe he really loves me ; 
if— but it matters not now." Thus 
speaking she broke the seal and 
opened Dermot's last epistle. " An- 
other proposal, I suppose, and- " 

What meant that sudden start, the 
glazed eye, the blanched cheek ? 
Eead but this line : "One speaks to 
you from the dead." Well may'st 
thou weep proud beauty, for Claude 
is indeed no more ! He fell at the 
first fire, shot through the head ! 
They buried him amid those scenes 
;h,e loved so well, — fit resting place 
for a poet's remains. The wild 
•winds sing his requiem among the 
.branches of the overshadowing trees; 
the gentle brook joins in with its 
sweet murmurings; mother Earth 
sheds, tears over her best beloved. 
Now indeed may he sleep on. Wil- 
son, the murderer, fled unscathed. 
Many long years he passed wander- 
ing in a distant land, seeking plea- 
.stre, but finding none. And amidst 
.gayest scenes the sweet, spiritual 
face of young Claude would appear 
to him, just as he lay stretched upon 
the sward wet with his blood ; and 

conscience sung " Thou art the 
man." * * * * 

Claude is dead, — the good, the 
pure, — but there are others whose 
fortunes may be interesting to our 
readers. To them I shall devote 
the short space yet remaining. 

Mary was much changed by the 
sad events I have related. A long 
and dangerous illness was the re- 
sult of the shock. At last she re- 
covered, but 'twas only after hover- 
ing for weeks over the grave to- 
which her young lover had proceed- 
ed. How different from the gay 
beauty we once knew. As lovely 
as ever, — a shade of melancholy 
rested upon her pensive counte- 
nance. She no longer delighted in 
the crowded ball-room, nor desired 
the admiration of the many. She 
was chastened by affliction, purified 
by sorrow. Many a tear had she 
shed over the fate of the noble 
Claude. He had not died in vain. 

JjC >}£ ^ 3}C 3}C 

'Twas evening, on a lovely day ! 
in spring; the sinking sun painted' 
in golden hues the green leaves of! 
the trees shading the banks of 
a rippling stream which flowed 1 
through the midst of a deep ra- 
vine. A carriage was slowly rum- 
bling down the steep road extend- 
ing along the narrow space. At 
last it stopped near a spot where a 
tall oak towered above the sur- 
rounding trees; a gentleman sprang 
down and with tender care assisted 



<is companion, a lady, to alight. 
! eneath the old oak's shade there 
ras a simple mound, covered with 
<ae green sward of spring, here 
"ad there some smiling wild-wood 
^ossom ; the violet and for-get-me- 
Dt were there, planted by some 
indly hand. A plain marble slab 
jiowed " that here rested the re- 
■ ains of Claude Dermot, who was 
^ain in a duel." What volumes in 
40se simple words. They speak 
< ? heart-stricken mourners, of a 
jml hurried unprepared into the 
■resence of its God. But who is 
■tie lady weeping so bitterly over 
ue dust of the forgotten stran- 
-Br, and who her noble-looking 
.rrarpanion, down whose manly 
keck a tear-drop trickles as he 
(>oks upon her woe ? Surely there 
hn be but one form like that. It 
! Mr. Fletcher, and the sobbing 
manger no other than she who once 
as Mary Winthrop ! She now is 
le wife of her former suitor. Yes, 
/.range as it may seem, 'twas even 
II He had left her in great de- 
pair, his confidence in woman's 
yve forever shaken. More devoted 
jaan ever to his profession, he strove 
. i - its arduous duties to forget and 
jury this dream of his younger 
.ays. New honors clustered thick 

around his brow ; yet there was as 
dearth within . The image of Mary, 
remained enshrined in his heart of 
hearts ; no new love usurped its 
place. Thus feeling toward her, 
chance once more brought them 
together. He could but notice the- 
change I have vainly endeavored 
to depict, and his old affection re- 
turned with redoubled force. He 
again became her devoted admirer. 
Long was it ere he could gain that 
constant heart, but he knew 'twas- 
well worth waiting and striving for.. 
Each day made him more conscious 
of its priceless value, and time at 
last rewarded his patience. She 
became his bride. Together they 
would visit poor Claude's last rest- 
ing place and mingle their tears 
over his hallowed grave. Each re- 
turning spring found it decked with 
fresh flowers by their pious care. 
And now that time has worn down, 
the simple mound, and crumbled 
away the towering oak, fond tradi- 
tion preserves his name, and points 
out the spot which holds his ashes. 
Many years of happiness followed 
their union, but Mary never forgot 
" the consequences of her flirtation," 
and many a tearful hour had she 
passed mourning over the memory 
of him " Who loved so well." 




In looking over "the Charleston 
Book," for 1845 — "a miscellany in 
prose and verse/' we were astonish- 
ed to find the name of William So- 
ranzo Hasell included in a publi- 
cation which professes to be "com- 
piled entirely from the writings of 
native or resident citizens of Charles- 
ton." "We do not know who the 
editor or compiler may be, but he 
has, in this instance, at least, fallen 
into a strange error. William So- 
eanzo Hasell was born, lived and 
died in Wilmington. He was a li- 
neal descendant of James Hasell, — 
the President of the Colonial Coun- 
cil of N. Carolina, during Martin's 
administration, being his grandson. 
James Hasell left no male issue. — 
His daughter Susan, the mother of 
the subject of this notice, marrying 
Parker Quince, the name of Has- 
ell had, consequently become ex- 
tinct, and it was revived by Will- 
iam Soranzo Quince assuming it. 

Having had the misfortune to 
lose his father in early life, young 
Hasell was sent to Connecticut to 
be educated. He graduated at 
Yale College in 1799, at 18 years of 
age. It was upon the occasion of 

his graduation that he composed 
" Alfred ; an Historical Poem," the 
production incorporated in the 
" Charleston Book." 

Upon leaving Yale College, young 
Hasell went to Charleston, whithei 
his mother had removed after th< 
death of her husband,ParkerQuince i 
and where his sister had marriec 
into the Motte family. He contih 
ued in Charleston until he had com 
pleted his preparation for practicing 
law, when he returned home. He 
however, soon abandoned the lega 
profession for pursuits more conge' 
nial to his tastes, and during the re 
sidue of his life, ho kept a book 
store and circulating library,, anc 
edited the " Wilmington Gazette"— 
until 1815 — when he died at 3' 
years of age. His remains are in 
terred at "Bosc Hill," the familj 
resting place. 

The memory of Mr. Hasell is stil 
cherished in the community of Wil 
mington. He is still spoken of witl 
affection, by many who participate 
in the pleasures of his cordial anc 
refined hospitality; and enjoyed th( 
advantages of his playful, polished 
and instructive companionship. 




O'er Morven's hill, just fading from the view, 
The trembling sun-beam twinkling through the shade, 
Gleam'd mournfully to the soul. Th' illumined orb 
Shone faintly ; then immerged in darkness drear, 
The low'ring clouds' obscure'd the evening ray, 
And spread a joyless gloom. The raven's cry 
The bittern's mournful sound, saddening, yet hoarse 
The gloom augments ; while ever and anon 
The dismal wailing of the bird of night, 
Comes fitful on the blast. Beneath the cliff, 
Stood Alfred, Albion's prince ! Grieved was his mind ; 
A melancholy deep subdued his heart, 
And gloom' d his faded brow — long groans his breast 
Heaved forth. Misfortune's bitter cup had reach'd 
His lips, — he drain' d the last sad drop, Tiie world 
A desert, wild and desolate j his hopes 
Destroyed ; while the dear father of his life 
Was left Lo brave the ruthless spoiler's rage. 
His private woes he felt ; but more he felt 
His country's wrongs. 
"My friends/' the Prince exclaimed, 
"My brave companions, banish from your thoughts 
Unmanly grief. Upon the Banish arms 
Fortune now smiles ; the sov'reign God inclines ; 
We must obey, nor dare to arraign his will. 
Here let us part ; first join our hands and hearts 
As one, and lift our hopes to brighter days. 
In some lone cottage, safe from curious eye, 
dad in the peasant's simple garb, I'll live 
Watchful to rescue from th' oppressor's grasp 


My love, my subjects, and my hapless realm. 
The bless'd occasion found, soon shall my voice 
Arouse, and prove your prowess in the field." 
Before the monarch bends each warrior's knee, 
And with a sigh, each slowly winds his way. 
In gloom desponding, while from distant fires, 
The shouts of meriment and Danish joy, 
Went through the woods and echo'd from the hills, 
Alfred, m dreary solitude involved, 
Pursues his path. The watch-dog barks ; he sees 
A light faint breaking thro' the lengtken'd glade ; 
He knocks ; the door unfolds ; a lowly hind 
Admits the royal guest. 

Eevolving cares, 
Deep in his mind, anxious and restless, long 
Without repose, he lay; 'till lost in thought, 
A balmly slumber overspread his frame. 
Fancy's light wing, in airy visions bright, 
• Sports playful round; what real day denied, 
In pleasing dreams, imagination gave, — 
His soul's best treasure clasped ! his kingdom sav'd I 
Before his eyes, while distant ages roll, 
Instarr'd with gems whose constellated power 
Shed a new splendor, Albion's glory rose. 
The Prince of Light in crimson robes array' d, 
I .From ocean's lucid wave emerges bright ; 
His beams dance on the misty mountain top, 
Gilds the soft plumage of the warbling tribe, 
Attune their hearts to chant the matm song. 
Alfred awoke, the morn's orisons paid, 
Trod the light grass, and trac'd his devious way 
From a dark grove, beneath the mountain's brow, 
Stretching in full luxuriance to the mead, 
With verdure crowned, a beauteous form appears. 
A robe of purest white her limbs adorned; 
A zone of azure clasped her slender waist; 
And zephyrs round her locks disporting play'd. 


With ecstacy he viewed ; then, panting, cried, 
"It must — it cannot be— it is Elfrida !" 
"Warm to his breast he clasped her fainting form, 
Dissolved in joy extreme. Sweet is th' embrace, 
Where souls congenial meet; love, sentiment, 
And friendship, pure desire, all blend in one. 
Straight to the cottage door he led the fair. 
Amid a region wild and desolate, 
Where Thone and Parett roll their turbid waves, 
Environed round by fens, in woods immur'd, 
He fix'd his lone retreat. Hence, from a fort, 
Bais'd by a few bold peers, his chosen friends, 
Upon the unwary Danes, in sleep dissolv'd, 
Or banqueting in mirth, he sallied fortn. 
They fled in wonder ; for they felt the blow, 
Yet knew not whence it came. 

One morn, while joy 
Beamed from his eye, a messenger arrived, 
And loud proclaimed, 'i Hail ! happy monarch, hail, 
Glad tidings to thy royal ears I bring, 
The brave Oddune, prince of Northumberland, 
Has nobly fought the foe ; bloody the strife, 
But glorious victory on his standard perched ; 
Their magic banner, with enchantment wove, 
Sad downfall to their hopes, our trophy waves." 
New fires now light ; new hopes inspire the prince ; 
He hails the auspicious era, now arrived, 
'To crown his wish. Throughout his realm, quick flies 
The royal summons to his lurking bands, 
On a set morn, before the day-star dawns, 
At Sherwood's wavy grove, all aimed t' appear. 
Meantime, to view the Danish camps and learn 
Their force, position, strength, the chief resolves. 
Pond'ring on this, and clad in deep disguise, 
Prepared for bold adventure, at the cot, 
Elfrida, mournful, met his raptur'd view. 
Ujimor had reach'd her ear of his design. 


A deed of dreadful name; th' alarm of death, 

All dar'd in battle ; for her tender mind, 

The seal of innocence and gentlest grace, 

Eecoil'd at carnage. She indeed profess'd 

"All that can sweetly charm, or softly please ;" 

Still in her bosom, love sole empress reigned, 

Nor knew a rival. Tremulous she spoke, 

"Partner of all my*hopes, my other self, 

Who shar'st my sorrows and partakest my joys, 

Whom to profess is heaven, to lose is death, 

Grant me this boon, deep anguish then shall cease 

To rend my bosom. If, when pleasure calls, 

On the same stream we both serenely glide, 

Why should I fly when dark'ning tempests lower ? 

Give me to join thee in the field of war !" 

" Cease thus to wound my peace," (the prince replies,) 

God never formed thy gentle limbs for toil ; 

Nor could thy angel spiiit e''er sustain 

The boisterous tumult of the deathful field ; 

But by our mutual love we here must part, 

God grant not long." Dissolved in tears, she stood 1 

In all the silent dignity of grief ; 

He gazed, nor longer dared to trust his view. 

A minstrel now he goes ; tun'd, in his hand 

A harp he bore, fit symbol of his mind, 

Plaintive, but bold ! The din of arms is heard — 

Light, airy notes now warble from the lyre ; 

The Danes received the sound. In rapture won) 

They lead him straight to Guthrum's tent. 

The cautious minstrel strikes the trembling strings, 

Gay melody quick vibrates from the touch, 

Then slowly sinks, and, lost in silence, dies. 

Now soothing, tender, wildly plaintive notes 

Stream from the harp, and touch the monarch's breast; 

The listening Danes, to catch the floating sounds, 

Thick throng the tent. With praise and presents grae'd, 

Alfred retires. His piercing eye had mark'd 


Their strength, their numbers and the camp's weak part, 

From a dark covert hid, up sprung a youth, 

Well form'd and fair, a blush o'erspread his cheek ; 

Though tremulous his dulcet voice breathed forth 

His proffered aid in battle. Pleas'd, the prince 

Welcom'd and led him on to Sherwood's grove. 

As down the mountain's side a sudden gust 

Swift sweeps and roars within the vale below, 

So hoarse applauses loud rang through the wood.^ 

When the brave nobles, with their loyal bands, 

Beheld their monarch. Gallant warriors hail ! 

u And you, brave yeomanry" the prince exclaims; 

" Arrayed in manly arms, for war prepared ; 

Behold yon blue expanse — yon lurid clouds 

In sullen grandeur roll ; the lightning flushes,' 

There in bright streaks, there in one gen'ral blaze; 

In solemn broken peals, heaven's thunder roars ; 

Does this appall you ? This an omen bless' d ; 

The God of worlds frowns on the Danish arms, 

And bids you hasten to the embattled plain. 

Before him bend the knee, then rise to fight, 

And bravely dare for England and for life."' 

Now shouts convulse the air, the clarion sounds,. 

The startled Danes spring from the bed of sleep — 

" To arms ! to arms !" tremend'ous Guthrum cries, 

" Bid the trump's clangor sound, the foe appears.' 7 

As two contending oceans driven by wind, 

Heap their proud waves and meet and foam and roar^ 

So fierce to combat rush the embattled hosts. 

Helmets are cleft on high ; on the bright shield. 

Harsh clangs the reeking blade ; huge clouds of dust 

Involve the plain in gloom. Swift flew the Danes, 

Confounded at the shock. Holgar, a chief, 

Far-famed through Norway's realm, who chas'd the stag 

On the bleak mountain's top, rallies their ranks,' 

And cries "base dastards, turn where vict'ry calls" 

The, Danes throng round. He rear'd his falchion bright, 


Hewed through the foe, till Oscar stopped his course, 

A blooming youth, his mother's hope and joy, 

That on fair Avon's bank the sylvan reed 

Had tuned melodious • wood-land npmphs flocked round, 

Danced to his lays but loved the youth far more; 

Holgar's keen blade rushed through his yielding side ; 

The vital crimson streamed ; his beauteous limbs 

Lay weltering in his gore. Oddune beheld, 

And high in air a gleaming jav'Iin poised 

Whizzing it flew, and pierced stern Holgar's heart ; 

Hoarse groans were heard, and clouds of jav'lins shower'd 

The hills re-echoed — crimson torrents ran — 

Earth shook and uproar wild convulsed the skies. 

Fierce Guthrum strode, as whirlwinds sweep the plain, 

Mow'd down wholeranks, and spread the steaming gore, 

Proudly serene amid the troubled storm, 

A watchful radiance blazing from his eye, 

Bold Alfred brav'd the chief : in horror lost 

Both armies stood, while front to front opposed, 

The generous heroes fought. Upon their swords 

Hung empire in suspense. Each glittering steel, 

Now raised on high, now swift descending clashed ; 

Guthrum full on the hero's nodding crest, 

Drove the keen blade; shivering it strew'd the ground; 

Quick through his breast a jav'lm found its way, 

And Guthrum fell. Loud clamors rent the air, 

And the wide concave rang. Amazed, aghast, 

Back rushed the Danes abrupt. Lurking behind, 

A vile assassin sprung to pierce the prince ; 

The youth who side by side with Alfred fought 

Rushed on the villain and the monarch saved. 

"Brave youth, my guardian angel ! (Alfred cried,) 

Declare thy rank thy name and recompense/ 

The youth : "My lineage noble ; all I ask 

Is constant love; in me Elfrida view.' 

Love, giatitude and pity wept at once ; 

Joy warmed the monarch's heart, the big round drops 


Rolled down Lis manly cheeks, with bliss o'ereonie, 
One general pardon to the Danes he gave, 
And peace, and lands, and safety. 

Loose to joy 
The sparkling goblet flevv ; the minstrel's song, 
Struck to each harp, illumined every eye ; 
The verdant turf, with mazy dances beat, 
Shook with wild ecstacy ; the table's mirth 
Re-echood from the hills, while proudly rolled 
The smoky columns from the bonfire's blaze. 
Then other cares employed the monarchs thoughts j 
"VYar with dread hands, had deeply dranehed the realm 
In blood and carnage ; beauteous fabrics razed, 
And cities overwhelmn'd in fire. These he repaired : 
On lofty hills the massy fortress built, 
And trained his hosts to war ; for well he knew, 
The palm hangs not on valor's arm alone. 
Brave were his subjects, yet untaught to fight, 
Their bands would fall an easy prey to skill. 
Lay'd by the wide Atlantic, hostile fleets 
Ravaged his shores. He spoke ; from nodding groves 
Huge oaks descend, bend into ships, up — plough 
The foaming wave, and guard with watchful care 
The queen of isles. Full proudly o'er the main, 
Triumphant rides the fleet ; while mighty sails 
By prosp'rous zephyrs filled, bear from all climes, 
The produce of each soil. 

Now learning smileB j 
Now rise Oxonia's walls by Alfred's hand 
Upraised. The youths, with bright ambitions throng 
To taste th' Aonian spring. From heaven descends 
Religion in her snowy vesture clad, 
And all the virtues smiling in her train, 
Culled from long slumbers by his quick'ning voice ; 
The tuneful bard awakes, sweet poesy 
With music, hand in hand, her sister joined, 
Trips o'er the mead, and sings on every hill , 


The distant mountains catch the gathering sounds, 
And echoing vales prolong the raptured strain. 
Now, sacred law the subject's right secures ; 
Not e'en the felon dies, whate'er his crimes, 
Till by his peers condemned. The common law. 
Offspring of Alfred, in to system grows, 
And reigns supreme, and guards the spacious realm. 
Hail ! prince of princes, hail ! thou first of men ! 
Born to command, and save, and bless mankind. 
Hail ! Albion, prosperous in thy happy sway ;, 
Free to all good as reason would be free. 
No furious faction filled thy realm with rage, 
And roused thy sons to blood. Foul. anarchy 
Fled hissing from thy shores. Fair order rose, 
Peace by her side and smiling, walked the land, 
Dispensing every joy. Blessed in thy prince, 
And in thy sons, and in the gifts of heaven, 
"What raptures filled thy bounds, as time rolled on ; 
Each day with pleasure fraught ; each joyous scene 
The morning gilded, and seren'd the eve. 
Oh, how unlike, in these degenerate days, 
In thoughts, in words, in deeds, philosophists !. 
Alfred ennobled, they debase the mind ; 
He loved true liberty, they, rank excess : 
Eeligion's schools, with virtue, science fraught, 
By him supported, flourish'd through the realm ; 
Schools of impiety, base slaves of vice, 
Founded by them, corruption wide bespread ; 
He wove the web oflove, they burst the loom. 
From carnage wide, from desolation drear, 
The land a garden blooms, new nations rise. 
Hail ! Alfred ! father, saviour of the State ! 
Oe'r vernal fields, with every beauty gay, 
O'er peaceful climes they bid wild havoc stalk, 
Whelm plains in blood, inflame the lofty dome^ 
While furious sophists light the angry fire. 
Just in the portrait ; then Columbia judge, 


Embrace true wisdom and thy God adore ; 

The atheist spurn, and real freedom claim. 

Thy spacious fields, in gayest vestments rob'd, 

Spread wide their golden harvests ; India's corn 

Rears its green head and shakes its silken crest ', 

And fruits of every form and every dye, 

Here grace the plains, there bloom upon the hills. 

The various tints of color spread around. 

From bolder strokes to shades of nicer touch j 

From live carnations to vermillion glow ; 

From azure deep to hues more delicate ; 

In lively contrast charm the lingering eye. . 

In simple grandeur winds Ohio's stream, 

Old Hudson feels incumbent-freighted barks ; 

And joyous rolls them to the destined port. 

Gay scenes of pleasure, innocent as gay, 

Amuse the senses and the soul refine. 

Thy Constitution, glorious monument 

Of worth and wisdom ; where the sister States, 

In union, harmony and love combined, 

Sublime around their common centre roll. 

Of vice beware, shun vain philosophy ; 

And peace, contentment, virtue and pure bliss, 

Conjoined shall reign, religion's sun shine forth, 

And with unmingled g'ory light the world. 









"It is almost twenty years," said 
he, "s'nce a man calling himself 
Captain Bellamonte arrived at Yen- 
ice. He was young and gay and of 
an adventurous character, and he 
came to offer his services to the 
Republic. The Republic accepted, 
but as she was not at war at that 
period, the Captain had to wait in 
inactivity, until an occasion should 
be presented for him to distinguish 
himself. Bellamonte had nothing 
to do, and he was met everywhere, 
with his felt hat over his ears and 
his sword at his side, ready for 
every thing and regretting above 
all others his inaction. Oh ! the 
beautiful nights he spent at that 
period of his youth, free, without 
cares, proud of his twenty-five 
years and of some physical advan- 
tages with which nature had en- 
dowed him. Never had he been 
seen to draw back, either in an 
affair of honor, or in a love af- 
fair. One evening, Captain Bella- 
monte was crossing the quay ' des 
Esclavous/ when the noise of a 

quarrel attracted his attention. He 
drew his sword and sprung to the 
place of the combat. But at the 
sight of him the bandit had fled, 
and he found only a woman, a prey 
to the most violent agitation. This 
woman belonged to one of the most 
illustrious families of Yenice. She 
had found herself drawn into a de- 
serted street, escorted only by some 
valets. Some robbers had attempt- 
ed to profit by this occasion, the 
valets had taken to flight in a cow- 
ardly manner, and the young wo- 
man had found herself alone, aban- 
doned to the insults of the bandits. 
Once freed from all fear, the young 
woman thanked her deliverer, asked 
him his name, and told him hers.. 
This woman, like you, was called 
Stella; like you, she was young 
and beautiful, * * * * and tell 
yourself whether I am deceiving, 
for here is her portrait. * * *" 

Speaking thus, the Captain hand- 
ed the young girl the portrait,, 
which had been ])]aced in his hands 
by Andrea. Scarcely had Stella 
cast her eyes upon it when she- 
grew pale and was troubled.. 




"My mother!" cried she, "it 
was my mother." Oh ! go on, go 
on ; tell me of my mother." 

And she kissed the picture which 
the Captain had abandoned to her. 
The latter pursued — - 

" Captain Bellamonte and Stella 
saw each other again in the sequel 
of this adventure ; and they were 
not slow in falling in love with each 
other. The deepest mystery covered 
their relations. Stella, although 
united to a Senator, enjoyed the 
most unrestrained liberty, and the 
interviews which she had with the 
Captain remained for a long time 
unknown to the world. Unhappily, 
these relations did not continue al- 
ways pure, and soon the poor Stella 
gave birth to a child which was 
called Beppo,»and which the Cap- 
tain confided to the care of an in- 
telligent servant. "What was to be 
added to that my child ? Prudence 
advised the two lovers to separate, 
to break the criminal bonds; hut 
they found in that mysterious love, 
in those dangers even, with which 
their nights were threatened, a 
strange savor which intoxicated 
them both. They continued their 
nightly promenade on the lagunes, 
by the light of the stars, far from 
every gaze, far from every noise. 
Two years more of unalloyed hap- 
piness. Alas ! they thought too 
late of a separation. Already the 
Senator suspected the crime. Omi- 
nous threats had been pronounced. 

Stella pretended a journey, and for 
the second time she became a mo- 
ther ! In the meanwhile Captain 
Bellamonte was obliged to go away, 
and he had the grief of leaving her 
deprived not only of her lover's 
presence, but, besides, of the more 
Consoling caresses of her two chil- 
dren. Her husband had finished, 
discovering the truth that Stella 
could believe in a crime. She did 
not. survive the thought that her 
two children could have perished 
the victims of her husband's jeal- 
ousy. When Captain Bellamonte 
returned your mother was dead ! 

Stella listened to the Captain with, 
a poignant grief and her counte- 
nance bathed with tears. She cov- 
ered the picture with kisses, and 
could not take her gaze from it 
As for the Captain, he was neither 
less moved nor less affected than 
the young girl ■ one moment even, 
he so far forgot himself as to take 
her hand and carry it to his lips, 
and as Stella looked at him aston- 
ished and surprised — 

' Oh J be not offended/ said he 
with a trembling voice, 'listen to 
the end of this recital.' 

' Is not this account finished, 
then,' objected Stella, 'is not my 
mother dead? What, remaineth. 
yet V 

' There remains Captain BelUv- 

' My father !'. 



' Do you not wish to know 
what became of him V 

' Oh, yes ! Speak/ said Stella. 
.'My mother loved him so much !' 
Captain Donato was silent for some 
seconds, either to collect his memo- 
ry's thoughts, or to overcome the 
emotion which gave his countenance 
an unusual palor. 

1 Stella/ said he at last, ' what 
I have to tell you is serious ; it con- 
cerns your father, a man who is 
poor, who has only his word for all 
his wealth, and who can fear that, 
having lived far from him, you 
might hesitate to recognize him, if 
he should present himself before 

'But he lives then?' cried Stella, 
repressing an outburst. 

' He lives/ replied the Captain. 

' Ah, well ! then tell me where 
he is, or rather lead me to him ; let 
us leave this place. Let us depart.' . 

And already the young girl was 
hurrying towards the door, when 
the Captain stopped her. 

' Stella !' said he, ' wherefore 
leave this palace ? Do you believe 
that Captain Bellamonte fears to 
come and find you in it V 

' He is at Venice V 

' Since eight days ago.' 

' "Why has he not yet come ?' 

'He did not know your abode.' 

' And now ? ■ 

'He does know it.' 

'Who has pointed it out to him V 

i This picture and Andrea.' 


' Then he knows Andrea, also V 

'He fought with him yesterday 
and wounded him.' 

' What do you say ?' 

Stella stopped astonished before 
the Captain ; a cloud obscured her 
sight ; she passed her hands several 
times over her brow, then at last 
she flew into his arms. 

' Oh, my father! my father!' cried 
she, ' pardon me for not having re- 
cognized you of course.' 

The Captain kissed her locks and 
her brow with a transport of mad 
joy, and, for some seconds, there 
was heard only a confused murmur 
of words and sobs. 

At last the young girl raised her 
head, and smiling modestly though 
her tears : 

' And Andrea, my father ?, she 
asked sweetly. 

' Andrea/ answered the Captain, 
' is waiting for us; all our measures 
are taken and to-morrow we will 
bear our Stella away from the pal 
ace Grimani.' 

The Captain remained a long 
time with his daughter. He could 
not weary himself with admiring 
her, and the beautiful child gave 
herself up complacently to all the 
admirations, to all the foibles of her 

,At last they must separate. Stel- 
la wept very much ; manifested 
some fears, found that the night 
was going to be very long; but the 
Captain could not further prolong 



his presence. Andrea, moreover, 
was expecting him. This last con- 
sideration prevailed, and the father 
smd daughter parted. 

Stella entered her chamber, a 
prey to an agitation of which no- 
thing could afford a just idea. — 
However, at the moment when she 
was about to pass the sill of her 
door, she found herself in company 
with a man whom she did not 
know, and whom she had not heard 

This man was Olivier, the bravo ! 

Without knowing why, Stella 
felt herself become frozen when 
she perceived him. 

' "Who are you V said she, with a 
trembling voice. 

• You wish to leave, to-morrow, 
the palace Grimani V answered 

<■ IV said Stella surprised. 

I I have heard all.' 

' And when could that be V 

I I come to give you a piece of 

f What is it V 

' Seigneur Grimani has posted 
spies on all sides of the palace for 
a long time, in the foreknowledge 
of what is occurring ; if to-morrow 
you attempt to flee, not only you 
are lost, but you loose with you 
Captain Bellamonte.' 

' You know him, then V 

• I was there ?' 

4 Ah, well ! what is your advice ?' 

• It consists in engaging the Cap- 

tain to wait, and in your trusting 
yourself to a man who will save 
you more surely.' 

' But who assures me that you 
are not deceiving me V 

1 Nothing.' 

1 It is perhaps a share.' 

( Have t need of any ? I know 
your secret; from this moment I 
can render your flight impossible.' 

< That's true.' 

I Do you accept V 

I I wish indeed to do so.' 

f Do not hesitate, it is happiness 
that I offer you.' 

* One word more, however.' 

1 What then V 

1 Who are you V 

'I will tell Captain Bellamonte 

And on saying these words the 
bravo bowed and disappeared. 
[to be continued.] 


Though doomed by fate to part, 
And distant far from thee, 

Still I hope that in thy heart, 
A tender chord yet beats for me. 

But poor assurance sure is this, 
After kn ing as I havo done, 

To have as my only cause of bliss, 
A simple hope to live upon. 

What's Fame? a fancied life in other's breath, 
A thing beyond us e'en before our death ; 
All that we feel of it begins and ends 
In the small circle of our foes aud friends, — 
A wit's a feather, a chief a r.od, 
An honest man's the noblest work of God. 


Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy* 
For the apparel oft proclaims the mam 



■ "This will be a Eopijirafyl tale."— tGiaoub. 

'■' So. you would hear an old man's 
tale V said he of the mournful look, 
while a melancholy smile played on 
his thin lips and distorted his 
shrunken cheeks. "Well, listen." 
The rumbling sea rolled at our feet, 
filling with its hoarse murmur 3 the 
pauses in conversation ; the bleak 
and desolate sand h^lls so. char- 
acteristic of the Carolina coast, 
reared their barren peaks behind, 
and each passing gust whirled the 
dry sand in clouds around us. " It 
is hard/' said he, " for youth, in the 
pride and joy of conscious strength 
and freshness, to dream that the 
days of age and trial will come. 
The boy that trudges laughingly to 
school to-day, finds i,t difficult to 
convince himself of the fact that 
days and years rolling; over his 
head will at last reduce his strength, 
dry up, his blood, and cause him to 
resemble the decrepid old man, who 
supports his faltering steps with a. 
staff, held in a feeble hand, and 
murmurs hollowly of his rest i,n 
the grave. Yet such is the course 
of nature, and I ; old. a.n4 withered 

as I am, was once as young and! 
joyous as the light-hearted school [ 
boy of to-day. Of my early life, 
it suits me not to speak, nor would 
its relation serve to interest or 
amuse you. One grand event of 
my life, one grand scene in my ex-, 
istence obscures all minor events, 
and on that I would dwell. In the 
village in which I dwelt resided a 
rich merchant, who, having resign- 
ed his business, sought in retire- 
ment and the society of an only 
daughter some recompense for the 
years spent in toil, and the accumu- 
lation of money. Rjch and re- 
spected, a happy conclusion to his 
toilsome life seeded opened to. him, 
in the ease and retirement of our 
little country town. But could the 
future have been laid before him 
the rich Harnett would gladly have 
changed places with the humblest 
plough boy that moves slowly be-, 
hind his plough.. 

<< Living next door to, and at- 
tending the same school with the 
lovely Lucy Harnett, it was not 
surprising that an intimacy should, 



have sprung up between us, and 
still less wonderful that my senti- 
ments of regard for my little school- 
fellow should have ripened into a 
warmer feeling. So far as Lucy 
was concerned, I am unable to this 
iay to decide whether she loved me 
or not. She was gentle, kind, and 
affectionate, but in her character 
was such a mixture of contradic- 
tions that it was impossible to tell 
at one moment what feeling would 
agitate her the next. Poor Lucy !" 
The smile that had before animated 
his face faded into a look of unut- 
terable sadness, and a bitter tear 
rolled slowly down his worn cheek. 
I Well," he continued after a slight 
pause, " I loved Lucy Harnett. 
Her father, though wound up in 
his daughter, appeared not to no- 
tice our growing attachment, pro- 
bably regarding us still as children, 
though Lucy was now seventeen, 
and I had some time since com- 
pleted my twenty-first year. He 
appeared rather to like me, request- 
ing my presence at his house fre- 
quently, and seeming much amused 
with my anecdotes of the outer 
world. Having graduated at a dis- 
tinguished college, and having vis- 
ited most of the noted cities of the 
United States, I was the better 
qualified to entertain him. with my 

" Things were at this stand when 
one day the house of the old mer- 
chant w$s thrown into confusion 

by the sudden arrival of a stranger. 
We — Lucy, her father and myself — 
were quietly seated in the parlor 
when the sound of horse's ieet was 
heard on the gravel walk of the 
yard, and the door bell rung vio- 
lently. Before I could cross the 
floor the folding door was thrown 
open, and a young man of thirty- 
five walked into the room. Tall 
and well made, with regular fea- 
tures, and neatly dressed, the stran- 
ger would have been considered 
eminently handsome, had not a 
cold sneer lurked about the corners 
of his mouth, giving a harsh ex- 
pression to the whole face. Ad- 
vancing with an easy nonchalant 
air, he nodded slightly to Lucy, 
and bowing gracefully to Mr. Har-„ 
nett, presented a packet of letters. 
The old merchant, without noticing 
the salutation of the stranger, pro- 
ceeded slowly to peruse the letters, 
glancing occasionally over his spec-, 
tacles at his visitor, The gentle- 
man in question manifested no 
embarrassment at his rather cool 
reception, but, coolly possessing 
himself of a chair, proceeded to, 
inspect at his leisure the different 
ornaments of the room,. 

"• Mr. Harnett having finished 
reading the letters, rose, and, ad- 
dressing the stranger as Mr. Collin?,, 
cordially welcomed him to his house, 
introducing him to his daughter, 
who he treated to a bow, and to 
myaelf, who he honored with a, 



well bred but rather impertinent 
stare. Seating himself by Lucy, 
and filling her head with the last 
flatteries of the city, I soon found 
anyself neglected ; and angry with 
her for allowing herself to be plea- 
sed with such lies, I rose and left 

" Business requiring my presence 
in the city, I was necessarily absent 
fVoni home many weeks, — in that 
time was accomplished the ruin of 
my hopes. An anonymous letter, 
with hints of strange proceedings 
at Mr. Harnett's, recalled me home, 
and with a heart tortured by a 
thousand fears, I found myself late 
on Sunday evening entering the 
gate of my mother's cottage. The 
first to greet me on my return was 
a little rosy-cheeked brother of 
>ome seven years, who ran eagerly 
to meet ' bud,' as in his childish 
manner he was accustomed to de- 
signate me. '. Oh ! bud,' said he, 
4 I'm so glad you come. Ma's been 
cirying all day; and Jim says Miss 
Lucy Harnett's mad with you, and 
all the boys say she's going to 
marry squint-eyed oollins, and' 

I heard no more, but leaning against 
the gate-post a moment to collect 
•my scattered senses, hurried breath- 
lessly to the house to enquire of 
my mother the meaning of my 
brother's words. The tale was 
soon told. The dashing Henry 
Collins had won the affections of 
the volatile Lucy, and by his artful 

address had so insinuated himself 
into the good opinion of her father 
that not only had he consented to 
his union with his daughter, but 
had actually confided the care of 
his estate to the hand of an almost 
total stranger. Young man I" He 
paused, and while the hoarse bel- 
lowings of the ocean rung in my 
ear, laid his hand upon my arm in 
an impressive manner, and said : 
" Affliction and pain are the natural 
concomitants of existence, — physi- 
cal suffering a man of strong nerves 
can endure, but the pain of the 
wretch who submits to the most 
agonizing surgical operation was 
pleasure to the mental torments I 
endured that night." The old man 
rose from his seat on the sand and 
rapidly paced the beach. The lone- 
liness of the spot, the strangeness 
of the man, and the sorrows he 
seemed to have suffered, all served 
to render me restless and uneasy, 
and I was about to request him to 
resume his story, when he observed 
my impatience, and re-seating him- 
self proceeded thus : " I rose early 
next morning and walked towards 
the Harnett House. I slowly ap- 
proached the door and applied for 
admission. The servant who an- 
swered my summons replied to my 
question of ' Is Miss Harnett at 
home ?' gruffly in the negative. ' Is 
Mr. Harnett V < No !' I retired 
sorrowfully to my lonely home, 
and addressed a note to Lucy. In 



the course of an hour it was re- 
turned unopened, and then I felt as 
if my misery was complete. But 
there was another pang in reserve 
for me. Walking out a few even- 
ings after, accompanied by my lit- 
tle brother, in a retired grove, I 
was surprised at hearing the sound 
of horse's feet behind me, and 
turning beheld Lucy Harnett at- 
tended by Henry Collins. He rode 
by with a contemptuous sneer on 
his lips, while his companion turn- 
ing her head avoided my gaze. In 
front of them my little brother was 
standing directly in the path, and 
instead of giving place to the horses 
stood gazing with childish wonder 
upon their rich trappings. Biding 
up to the little fellow, the horseman 
deliberately raised his whip, and, 
turning towards me with a sneer 
oh* his lips, brought it across my 
brother's face. I could stand no 
more. To rob me of my love, de- 
prive me of a friend, sneer at my 
actions, and horsewhip my brother, 
I could not endure it, but rushing 
forward tore him from his horse, 
(for he was no match for me in 
physical strength,) and trampled 
him in the dust. Slowly resuming 
his feet, he drew a pistol and di- 
rected it towards me. I sprang 
forward as the instrument exploded, 
and the ball, intended for my heart, 
entered the arm of my brother. 
He fell with a cry, and I, thinking 
him dead, was too overcome with 
surprise and horror to prevent the 

escape of Collins, who hastily 
mounted his steed and fled. I 
raised the bleeding form of my 
brother, and carefully bearing him 
to the next house, summoned the 
best medical aid. As soon as the 
wound was examined, and his life- 
pronounced out of danger, I col- 
lected a few friends, and proceeded, 
towards the Harnett Place, with 
the intention of punishing Collins. 
But I was too late — the bird had, 
flown, — and we found the old man 
in a frantic condition bewailing the 
loss of his daughter who had eloped 
with him. It was a cruel sight to. 
see that old man raising his thin, 
hands to heaven, and while his. 
white locks streamed in the wind, 
bitterly call down divine wrath, 
upon the head of the villain who 
had robbed him of his daughter.. 
I carried him to my own humble 
home, and watched beside his sick 
couch for many a weary week, 
though nearly as much in want of 
attention myself." The old man 
paused, and I pondered on his tale. 
At length I ventured to observe 
that it surprised me that he should 
never have endeavored to revenge 
himself for these moments of pain. 
'" Eevenge I" said he, and a hoarse 
laugh burst from his lips ; " Listen, 
I will become a novelist for your 
especial benefit, and give you the 
sequel in true orthodox style. — ■ 
About one year from the occurrence 
of the above mentioned events two 
young men were seated in a retired 



j-oom of one of our second class 
hotels. One was tall, -handsome, 
and drunk; of the other I wilLnot 
speak. ' Here Henry/ said the 
latter, ' take a horn/ and he passed 
a glass of whisky towards his com- 
panion, who stretched out a drunk- 
en hand to receive it. ' Bill/ said 
Henry, ' don't frown so ; I'll swear 
you look so like a d — d fool I met 

at C , when I was down last 

year.' ' Come/ said the other, 
4 give me an account of your trip to 

C ? You know you promised 

to tell me all about it. < Well, Bill/ 
said Henr}*, ' I haven't known you 
six months, but you're a good fel- 
low, and you shall have the yarn, 
but you must be ' mum.' You see 
I forged some letters in the old 
gentleman's former partner's style, 
and down I went. My principal 
object when I started was the old 
boy's gold, but he had a right 
pretty daughter, and I included her 
in my plan of operations. I suc- 
ceeded admirably, — I got hold of 
of the old boy's secret funds and 
got Lucy, (that was the girl's 
name,) to loving me pretty strong. 
If I had had time I would have 
made a fortune of him, but having 
a little l muss' with a d — d country 
booby, I was obliged to move. But 
all things considered, it was a pro- 
fitable trip.' 'What did you do 
with the girl ? Marry her V asked 
the other. ' Ha ! ha ! ha !' laughed 
Henry. ' Bill, 1 didn't think you 
were so green. Marry indeed ! No, 
I kept her about a month or two, 
and then sold her to Charley. She 
didn't much like to go, but Charley 
had paid for her, and she devilish 
soon found she had to.' Boy !" — 
The old man paused, and looking 
steadily at me continued thus : 
" That man who boasted of his 
villainy was Henry Collins — the 

woman he spoke of, Lucy Harnett, 
and the man he addressed, myself! 
For months I had dogged his foot- 
steps, sought his friendship, and in- 
sinuated myself into his good-will, 
all for revenge, — and now the hour 
had come. I rose from my seat, 
rushed upon him and bound him 
hand and foot to the table. Hing- 
ing a small bell, (which was a pre- 
concerted signal,) from a side door 
the pale and emaciated form of the 
once beautiful Lucy Harnett enter- 
ed the room, while from another 
the feeble steps of her father were 
heard as he tottered towards the 
table. ' Henry Collins/ said I, 'the 
hour of your death is near. My 
own hand would long since have 
freed the earth of such a monster, 
but the greater wrongs inflicted 
upon others give them a prior claim 
to vengeance.' The once gentle 
and effeminate Lucy Harnett, now 
the stern avenger of her outraged 
innocence, advanced towards the 
table, and placed a loaded pistol at 
the prisoner's head. Eapid s^eps 
were heard on the staircase, and 
loud voices calling to one another ; 
for the cries of Collins had alarmed 
the house, and the servants were 
hastening to discover the cause of 
the disturbance. These sounds 
caused a feeling of hope in the 
wretch's bosom, and he redoubled 
his efforts to escape. In vain ! Even 
with a shout upon his lips, the 
weapon exploded, and the wall was 
bespattered with his brain . A back 
way afforded us the means of es- 
cape, and the servants rushing in 
from the outer door found but a 
lifeless corpe. 

" The rest of my tale is shortly 
told. The green grass covers the 
graves of Lucy and her father, and 
another season will number me with 
those that have ' passed away.' " 




It has grown into a proverb, that 
an author's language is the index 
of his mind and heart, that what 
he utters is what he thinks and 
feels. This we may adopt as a 
true maxim; and although many 
writers might be convicted of ex- 
pounding theories, and teaching 
lessons which they themselves have 
never reduced to practice, yet the 
pen will hardly be so unfaithful as 
to fail to stamp the image of the 
writer upon his writings. The 
bold allurements of vice or the 
modest call of virtue, the wild 
excitement of busy life or the 
quiet seclusion of a hermit's home, 
cannot so disturb the pool of his 
thoughts as that it shall not mirror 
faithfully his character. In treat- 
ing of authors in their relations to 
life, we might be struck with won- 
der at the fact, that they have so 
often eulogized, and sung so sweetly 
of joys that they have never tasted; 
that they have cried out so loudly 
against vices to which they were 
themselves a prey, and extolled 
virtues which they never possessed. 
This would seem to say that one 
must not pass sentence upon an 
author's character from his wri- 
tings ; but upon close examination 

the truth will manifest itself. The 
philosophy of the human heart 
teaches us that we most desire that 
which is denied us. It was to sat- 
isfy this craving after what is not 
our own, that caused our first pa- 
rents to eat the forbidden fruit. 
This principle will account for that 
seeming inconsistency, which we 
so often remark between a man and 
his actions. An author sits down 
to write with the fumes of his own 
debauchery sickening his senses, 
and as he looks around him and 
sees the happy countenances of 
those who are pursuing " the sun- 
paths of virtue," free hearted and 
joyful, he cannot refrain from burst- 
ing forth in an indignant wailing 
against vice, and an eloquent appeal 
in behalf of virtue. Well might 
Thackeray, in " Yanity Fair," make 
the direful consequences of drink- 
ing too much Vauxhall punch turn 
poor James Sedley into a philoso- 
pher in his next day's reflections. 
It is for this reason that moral 
teachers are not always moral do- 
ers ; it is for this reason that he, 
whose eyes a roll in vain" to catch 
the cheering sunlight, can sing so 
sweetly of the beauties of the land- 
scape, and that he whose vices have 



disgusted his own self, can use his 
sad experience as the warning and 
the guide of his fellow man. 

We see then, that literature par- 
takes as much of the peculiar char- 
acter and disposition of its authors, 
as the tree does of the soil to which 
it owes its growth. An author can- 
not wander so far out of himself, 
in the reflections of his closet, as 
that his every-clay tastes and incli- 
nations shall not give their tone to 
the character of his thoughts ; the 
rages of his petty prejudices, his 
likes and dislikes, will peep through 
the badly-fitting outer garment of 
his assumed philosophy. The va- 
rious mutations through which lit- 
erature has passed in the world and 
in different countries, present this 
fact in a clear light, showing that 
authors, after all, are not so much 
raised, in their moral character, 
above the rest of mankind. If we 
will look at the history of letters, 
we shall find that they have had 
their ebbs and flows, dependent 
upon the elevation or depression of 
the moral and mental faculties of 
their masters, in as striking, yet 
solemn succession, as the rise and 
fall of nations. Literature, the pre- 
cedent of civilization, still continues 
to follow the course of the sun, (from 
east to west,) changing, of course, 
its nature as it passes through dif- 
ferent climes and races of men, but 
always carrying with it more bles- 
sings than evils, until one may hope 
and expect that it will complete the 
great circle in which it seems to be 
moving, and restore all the blind 
descendants of Noah to one com- 
mon and brotherly bond of union 

and enlightenment. "Why is it, we 
may ask, that people, in the enjoy- 
ment of the refinement and blessings 
bestowed by the cultivation Of let- 
ters, should be willing that their 
literature become degraded, and 
thus pave the way for the over- 
throw of their morality and per- 
haps of their country? Why is it 
that a literary degradation is so apt 
to be the precursor of the downfall 
of that government under which it 
exists, and whose pillars of support, 
it has turned into wormwood ? Why 
is it that nations, whose strength, 
would seem to be unconquerable, so 
often humbled in the dust ? Be- 
cause they have suffered their minds 
and hearts to run in the wrong 
channel, and their tastes to be cor- 
rupted by bad influences, while 
they who ought to be the guardians 
of morality and civilization, the 
men of letters, themselves fall vic- 
tims to the vices of the age, and 
thus give greater impetus to its 
downward and ruinous course. — 
These evil influences spread them- 
selves imperceptibly over the whole 
community, working most perni- 
ciously through the medium of lit- 
erature, until the nation is gradu- 
ally deprived of its moral and men- 
tal strength, and thus becomes a 
prey to the more intellectual ad- 
vancement of some other nation, 
or the superior physical force of its 
barbarian neighbors. This was the 
fact at the commencement of the 
middle ages, when but fcr the pious 
works of sequestered monasteries 
the bright lights of ancient genius 
would never have penetrated the 
thick gloom that was flung over 
them. However corrupt the masses 
of the people may be, there is yet 
hope for a better state of things, so 
long as the writing classes stand 
aloof from vice ; but when they too 



become a prey to moral depravity, 
their country's prosperity is sealed. 
Alas ! that authors seem generally 
i to appreciate so little the high re- 
i sponsibility of their station, to yield 
f so often to those petty prejudices, 
i and evil influences peculiar to their 
( circumstances and to the age in 
•which they live ; when they should 
rather, feeling the importance of 
their office, be somewhat raised, in 
moral and mental cultivation, Jabove 
the rest of mankind, as their teach- 
ers and guardians. 

There is no class of literature 
which presents a more striking ex- 
ample of the influence of age and 
circumstances upon its character, 
than that which we see issuing from 
the walls of our colleges. With the 
exception of the productions of a 
few, more mature in years and of 
riper judgment than the rest, it 
partakes almost entirely of that ro- 
mantic and imaginative tone, so 
peculiar to the ardent temperament 
of youth. If we will but look into 
college magazines, which for the 
most part form the medium by 
which the student exhibits his 
thoughts to the public eye, we will 
find that the better portion of their 
contents are either the record of 
love scenes, in which Romeo has at 
last succeeded in marrying his 
adorable Juliet, and faithful Cres- 
sicla, after all the trials of war, 
famine and pestilence, has finally 
gone to live in a neat little cottage at 
the foot of a green hill with her 
dear, dear Troilas, or tales of fancy, 
in the composition of which the 
author was carried back to those 
good old times when ladye-love and 
valiant knight were all "the go." 
These remarks might apply, in some 
measure, to the literature of all our 
colleges ; but they are intended 
more especially for our own Alma 

Mater, where the imaginative and 
the romantic have almost at times 
run riot. If an opinion can be 
formed from the character of or,r 
literaiy productions, we are most 
emphatically an ardent, warm- 
hearted band, with but one end 
in view, the attainment of which 
we are striving for by various and 
dissimilar means — that end, our 
snmmum bonum, a lady's smile.. 
This conclusion may seem strange 
and unfounded ; but the justness of 
it will be apparent, if any one will 
take the trouble to look into our 
literary archives and examine the 
character of their contents, espe- 
cially the practical portion of them.. 
On examination, he will find that 
by far the larger portion of this 
part of our literature is sacred to 
woman, and be struck with the fact 
that about two-thirds of the shorter 
poems possess significant titles, like 
the following: " Lines to Miss A. 
B., of C," " To a Young Lady on 
hearing of her fall from a carriage." 
" On my picture being returned tome." 
" A lover's reflections on a moonlight 
night," &c, &c. Some partake more 
of the chivalric nature, pleading 
eloquently in behalf of woman's 
rights, as if any one ever denied 
her importance as a member of so- 
ciety, or was so sacrilegious as to 
wish to deprive her of that sove- 
reignty which is undoubtedly her's, 
in her proper sphere. Most of these 
scintillations of hopeful genius be- 
gin somewhat in the following 
manner : 

" Maiden, fairer than the moon, 
Whose charms are brighter than the sun, 

Ah, that these charms must fade so soon, 
Must fade when the}' are scarce begun !" 

"We see the sun and moon are 
made use of in the Very first stanza 
generally, then follow the stars and 
other planetary orbs in succession, 
until the author, tired of simile an<i 



metaphor, bursts forth in a fiery 
and pathetic peroration, as follows : 

" Maiden, I can ne'er forget thee, 

Ne'er forgot thy face divine ! 
Thou wilt always be before me 1 

Near this bleeding heart of mine !" 

Ye sun, moon and stars, do ye 
not sometimes blush at the uses 
made of you by these college poe- 
tasters who "trim the midnight 
lamp" over their love-songs, de- 
claring that they were composed 
" by the moon's pale light !" 

While the foregoing remarks give 
a good idea of the character of a 
great deal of college literature, 
prose and poetical, we should be 
treating our subject with injustice, 
if we should fail to mention that 
there are also to be found essays 
and poems which would do credit 
to heads older and more experi- 
enced than those of their authors. 
And we are not disposed to despise, 
by any means, even that which is 
so sacred to woman ; but only wish 
to laugh a little at the love-mania 
which seems to manifest itself so 
strikingly among the literary por- 
tion of the students, and to remark 
the manner in which it colors all 
the productions of their intellects. 
The facts are evident, and the rea- 
sons for them as obvious. The 
student is young, warm-hearted, 
more or less susceptible of the 
beautiful in everything, and most 
especially m woman, and when he 
sits down alone at night, after the 
monotonous routine of a college- 
day's exercises, how can he restrain 
his thoughts from flying away to 
bask in the sunny smiles of fair 
ones, whose farewells have hardly 
died away upon his ear ? He takes 
up his pen to write, with woman 
uppermost in his thoughts, and her 
charms are often the burden of his 
song. Many men, in married life, 
have doubtless laughed, or perhaps 

sighed, over the love sick produc- 
tions of their college-days, exclaim* 
ing how changed 1 

But after all, the question may 
be asked, Whether it is not better 
that the thoughts of the student, 
in his leisure moments, should run 
in this romanctic-imaginative chan- 
nel, if we may so call it ? The im- 
agination is certainly an important 
faculty, and what can be better 
than exercising it on so noble an 
object as woman ? With a just ap- 
preciation of the faculty mentioned, 
and a due reverence for the nobility 
of woman, we venture the assertion 
that no disease or influence is more 
apt to fit its victim for the lunatic 
asylum than imagination run wild 
on the subject of love. The lite- 
rary productions of one who is so 
unfortunate as to be thus possessed 
will partake of the author's wild 
extravagancies, and fail to be appre- 
ciated by those who look at them 
from a sob